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THE   HAND 
OF    ETHELBERTA 

A    COMEDY    IN    CHAPTERS 


BY 

THOMAS    HARDY 


"Vita  post-scenia  celant.*! — Lucretius 


*      o    •  -    •' 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


tuLM- 


PREFACE 

This  somewhat  frivolous  narrative  was  produced  as  an 
interlude  between  stories  of  a  more  sober  design,  and 
it  was  given  the  sub-title  of  a  comedy  to  indicate — 
though  not  quite  accurately — the  aim  of  the  perform- 
ance. A  high  degree  of  probability  was  not  attempted 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  incidents,  and  there  was 
expected  of  the  reader  a  certain  lightness  of  mood, 
which  should  inform  him  with  a  orood-natured  willinsr- 
ness  to  accept  the  production  in  the  spirit  in  which 
it  was  offered.  The  characters  themselves,  however, 
were  meant  to  be  consistent  and  human. 

On  its  first  appearance  the  novel  suffered,  perhaps 
deservedly,  for  what  was  involved  in  these  intentions 
— for  its  quality  of  unexpectedness  in  particular — that 
unforgivable  sin  in  the  critic's  sight — the  immediate 
precursor  of  'Ethelberta'  having  been  a  purely  rural 
tale.  Moreover,  in  its  choice  of  medium,  and  line  of 
perspective,  it  undertook  a  delicate  task  :  to  excite 
interest  in  a  drama — if  such  a  dignified  word  may  be 
used  in  the  connection — wherein  servants  were  as 
important  as,  or  more  important  than,  their  masters  ; 
wherein  the  drawing-room  was  sketched  in  many  cases 

from  the  point  of  view  of  the  servants'  hall.     Such  a 

vii 

•784S73 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

reversal  of  the  social  foreground  has,  perhaps,  since 
grown  more  welcome,  and  readers  even  of  the  finer 
crusted  kind  may  now  be  disposed  to  pardon  a  writer 
for  presenting  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chickerel  as  beings  who  come  within  the  scope  of  a 
congenial  regard. 

December  1895. 

P.S. — The    surmise    ventured   upon    in    the    note 

above — that   the   subject    of  this    book    was    growing 

more  welcome  with  the  lapse  of  time — has  been  borne 

out   by  events.      Imaginary  circumstances  that  on  its 

first   publication   were    deemed    eccentric    and    almost 

impossible   are   now   paralleled  on    the    stage    and    in 

novels,   and    accepted    as    reasonable    and    interesting 

pictures  of  life  ;  which  suggests  that  the  comedy  (or, 

more    accurately,     satire) — issued    in    April     1876  — 

appeared   thirty-five   years    too    soon.      The    artificial 

treatment    perceptible    in    many    of    the    pages    was 

adopted  for  reasons  that  seemed  good  at  the  date  of 

writing  for  a  story  of  that   class,  and   has   not  been 

changed. 

T.  H. 

August  1912. 


CONTENTS 


fAGB 


1.  A  Street  in  Anglebury — A  Heath  near  it— Inside 

THE  'Red  Lion'  Inn ^ 

2.  Christopher's    House— Sandbourne    Town— Sand- 

bourne  Moor ^7 

3.  Sandbourne  Moor — {continued) 29 

4.  Sandbourne   Pier— Road  to  Wyndway— Ball-room 

in  Wyndway  House •         34 

5.  At  the  Window — The  Road  Home    ...         -         42 

6.  The  Shore  by  Wyndway 47 

7.  The  Dining-room  of  a  Town  House— The  Butler's 

Pantry 53 

8.  Christopher's     Lodgings  —  The     Grounds     about 

Rookington     ...••••• 

9.  A    Lady's   Drawing-rooms — Ethelberta's   Dressing- 

room        

10.  Lady  Petherwin's  House ^3 

11.  Sandbourne  and  its  Neighbourhood — Some  London 

88 
Streets   .....••••         °° 

12.  Arrowthorne  Park  and  Lodge         .         .         .         •         93 

13.  The  Lodge  {continued)— T^^  Copse  behind        .         .         97 

14.  A  Turnpike  Road ^^° 

15.  An  Inner  Room  at  the  Lodge  .         .         .         •        ^^5 

ix 


65 


73 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 


1 6.  A  Large  Public  Hall 

17.  Ethelberta's  Housi   . 

18.  Near  Sandbourne — London  Streets — Ethelberta's 

19.  Ethelberta's  Drawing-room 

20.  The    Neighbourhood    or    the    Hall  —  The    Road 

Home 

21.  A  Street — Neigh's  Rooms — Christopher's  Rooms 

22.  Ethelberta's  House 

23.  Ethelberta's  House — {continueii') 

24.  Ethelberta's      House     {continued)  —  The      British 

Museum 

25.  The  Royal  Academy — The  Farnfield  Estate 

26.  Ethelberta's  Drawing-Room 

27.  Mrs.   Belmaine's — Cripplegate  Church     . 

28.  Ethelberta's — Mr.   Chickerel's  Room 

29.  Ethelberta's      Dressing-room  —  Mr.     Doncastle's 

House      ....         .... 

30.  On  the  Housetop       .         .  ... 

31.  Knollsea — A  Lofty  Down — A  Ruined  Castle 

32.  A  Room  in  Enckworth  Court  .... 

33.  The  English  Channel — Normandy   . 

34.  The  H6tel  Beau  S^jour,  and  spots  near  it  . 

35.  The  Hotel  {continued),  and  the  Quay  in  Front 

36.  The  House  in  Town  . 

37.  Knollsea — An  Ornamental  Villa 

38.  Enckworth  Court 

39.  Knollsea — Melchester 

40.  Melchester  {continued) 

41.  Workshops — An  Inn — The  Street 

42.  The  Doncastles'  Residence,  and  outside  the  same 


I  [9 
126 
137 
U5 

148 

152 

160 

172 

180 
191 
202 
21 1 
223 

236 

248 

254 

275 
279 

291 

300 

314 
322 
328 
336 

354 
364 


CONTENTS 


fAGB 


43.  The  Railway — The  Sea — The  Shore  Beyond  .         .  3S0 

44.  Sandbourne — A  Lonely  Heath — The  'Red  Liox' — 

The  Highway. 393 

45.  Knollsea — The  Road  Thenxe — Enckworth      .         .  409 

46.  Enxkworth  {continued) — The  Anglebury  Highway  .  423 

47.  Enxkworth  and  its  Precincts — Melchester   .         .  441 
SEQUEL.  Anglebltiy — Enckworth — Sandbourne           .  451 


THE   HAND   OF   ETHELBERTA 


A  STREET  IN  ANGLEBURY 
A  HEATH  NEAR  IT 

INSIDE  THE  'RED  LION'  INN 


Young  Mrs.  Petherwin  stepped  from  the  door  of  an 
old  and  well-appointed  inn  in  a  Wessex  town  to  take  a 
country  walk.  By  her  look  and  carriage  she  appeared 
to  belong  to  that  gentle  order  of  society  which  has  no 
worldly  sorrow  except  when  its  jewellery  gets  stolen  ; 
but,  as  a  fact  not  generally  known,  her  claim  to  dis- 
tinction was  rather  one  of  brains  than  of  blood.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  who  lived  in  a  large 
house  not  his  own,  and  she  began  life  as  a  baby 
christened  Ethelberta  after  an  infant  of  title  who  does 
not  come  into  the  story  at  all,  having  merely  furnished 
Ethelberta's  mother  with  a  subject  of  contemplation. 
She  became  teacher  in  a  school,  was  praised  by 
examiners,  admired  by  gentlemen,  not  admired  by 
gentlewomen,  was  touched  up  with  accomplishments 
by  masters  who  were  coaxed  into  painstaking  by  her 
many  graces,  and,  entering  a  mansion  as  governess  to 
the  daughter  thereof,  was  stealthily  married  by  the 
son.  He,  a  minor  like  herself,  died  from  a  chill 
caught  during  the  wedding  tour,  and  a  few  weeks 
later  was  followed  into  the  grave  by  Sir  Ralph 
Petherwin,  his  unforgiving  father,  who  had  bequeathed 
his  wealth  to  his  wife  absolutely. 

These  calamities  were  a  sufficient  reason  to  Lady 

I 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Petherwin  for  pardoning  all  concerned.  She  took  by 
the  hand  the  forlorn  Ethelberta — who  seemed  rather 
a  detached  bride  than  a  widow — and  finished  her 
education  by  placing  her  for  two  or  three  years  in  a 
boarding-school  at  Bonn.  Latterly  she  had  brought 
the  girl  to  England  to  live  under  her  roof  as  daughter 
and  companion,  the  condition  attached  being  that 
Ethelberta  was  never  openly  to  recognize  her  relations, 
for  reasons  which  will  hereafter  appear. 

The  elegant  young  lady,  as  she  had  a  full  right  to 
hft  called  if  she  cared  for  the  definition,  arrested  all 
the  local  attention  when  she  emerged  into  the  summer- 
evening  light  with  that  diadem-and-sceptre  bearing — 
many  people  for  reasons  of  heredity  discovering  such 
graces  only  in  those  whose  vestibules  are  lined  with 
ancestral  mail,  forgetting  that  a  bear  may  be  taught  to 
dance.  While  this  air  of  hers  lasted,  even  the  in- 
animate objects  in  the  street  appeared  to  know  that 
she  was  there  ;  but  from  a  way  she  had  of  carelessly 
overthrowing  her  dignity  by  versatile  moods,  one 
could  not  calculate  upon  its  presence  to  a  certainty 
when  she  was  round  corners  or  in  little  lanes  which 
demanded  no  repression  of  animal  spirits. 

'  Well  to  be  sure  ! '  exclaimed  a  milkman,  regarding 
her.  *  We  should  freeze  in  our  beds  if  'twere  not  for 
the  sun,  and,  dang  me !  if  she  isn't  a  pretty  piece.  A 
man  could  make  a  meal  between  them  eyes  and  chin 
— eh,  hostler  ?  Odd  nation  dang  my  old  sides  if  he 
couldn't ! ' 

The  speaker,  who  had  been  carrying  a  pair  of  pails 
on  a  yoke,  deposited  them  upon  the  edge  of  the  pave- 
ment in  front  of  the  inn.  and  straightened  his  back  to 
an  excruciating  perpendicular.  His  remarks  had  been 
addressed  to  a  rickety  person,  wearing  a  waistcoat  of 
that  preternatural  length  from  the  top  to  the  bottom 
button  which  prevails  among  men  who  have  to  do 
with  horses.  He  was  sweeping  straws  from  the 
carriage-way  beneath  the  stone  arch  that  formed  a 
passage  to  the  stables  behind. 

2 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  Never  mind  the  cursing  and  swearing,  or  some- 
body who's  never  out  of  hearing  may  clap  yer  name 
down  in  his  black  book,'  said  the  hostler,  also  pausing, 
and  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  mullioned  and  transomed 
windows  and  moulded  parapet  above  him — not  to 
study  them  as  features  of  ancient  architecture,  but  just 
to  give  as  healthful  a  stretch  to  the  eyes  as  his 
acquaintance  had  done  to  his  back.  '  Michael,  a  old 
man  like  you  ought  to  think  about  other  things,  and 
not  be  looking  two  ways  at  your  time  of  life.  Pouncing 
upon  young  tiesh  like  a  carrion  crow — 'tis  a  vile  thing 
in  a  old  man.' 

'  'Tis  ;  and  yet  'tis  not,  for  'tis  a  natural  taste,'  said 
the  milkman,  again  surveying  Ethelberta,  who  had 
now  paused  upon  a  bridge  in  full  view,  to  look  down 
the  river.  *  Now,  if  a  poor  needy  feller  like  myself 
could  only  catch  her  alone  when  she's  dressed  up  to 
the  nines  for  some  grand  party,  and  carry  her  off  to 
some  lonely  place — sakes,  what  a  pot  of  jewels  and 
goold  things  I  warrant  he'd  find  about  her !  'Twould 
pay  en  for  his  trouble.' 

'  I  don't  dispute  the  picter  ;  but  'tis  sly  and  un- 
timely to  think  such  roguery.  Though  I've  had 
thoughts  like  it,  'tis  true,  about  high  women — Lord 
forgive  me  for't.' 

*  And  that  figure  of  fashion  standing  there  is  a 
widow  woman,  so  I  hear  ? ' 

*  Lady — not  a  penny  less  than  lady.  Ay,  a  thing 
of  twenty-one  or  thereabouts.' 

*  A  widow  lady  and  twenty-one.  'Tis  a  back- 
ward age  for  a  body  who's  so  forward  in  her  state 
of  life.' 

'  Well,  be  that  as  'twill,  here's  my  showings  for 
her  age.  She  was  about  the  figure  of  two  or  three- 
and-twenty  when  a'  got  off  the  carriage  last  night, 
tired  out  wi'  boaming  about  the  country  ;  and  nineteen 
this  morning  when  she  came  downstairs  after  a  sleep 
round  the  clock  and  a  clane-washed  face  :  so  I  thought 
to  myself,  twenty-one,  I  thought' 

3 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'And  what's  the  young  woman's  name,  make  so 
bold,  hostler  ? ' 

*  Ay,  and  the  house  were  all  in  a  stoor  with  her 
and  the  old  woman,  and  their  boxes  and  camp-kettles, 
that  they  carry  to  wash  in  because  hand-basons  bain't 
big  enough,  and  I  don't  know  what  all ;  and  t'other 
folk  stopping  here  were  no  more  than  dirt  thence- 
for'ard.' 

*  I  suppose  they've  come  out  of  some  noble  city  a 
long  way  herefrom  ? ' 

'  And  there  was  her  hair  up  in  buckle  as  if  she'd 
never  seen  a  clay-cold  man  at  all.  However,  to  cut  a 
long  story  short,  all  I  know  besides  about  'em  is  that 
the  name  upon  their  luggage  is  Lady  Petherwin,  and 
she's  the  widow  of  a  city  gentleman,  who  was  a  man 
of  valour  in  the  Lord  Mayor's  Show.' 

*  Who's  that  chap  in  the  gaiters  and  pack  at  his 
back,  come  out  of  the  door  but  now  ? '  said  the  milk- 
man, nodding  towards  a  figure  of  that  description  who 
had  just  emerged  from  the  inn  and  trudged  off  in  the 
direction  taken  by  the  lady — now  out  of  sight. 

'Chap  in  the  gaiters  .-^  Chok'  it  all  —  why,  the 
father  of  that  nobleman  that  you  call  chap  in  the 
gaiters  used  to  be  hand  in  glove  with  half  the  Queen's 
court.' 

'  What  d'ye  tell  o'  ?  ' 

*  That  man's  father  was  one  of  the  mayor  and 
corporation  of  Sandbourne,  and  was  that  familiar  with 
men  of  money,  that  he'd  slap  'em  upon  the  shoulder  as 
you  or  I  or  any  other  poor  fool  would  the  clerk  of  the 
parish.' 

'  O,  what's  my  lordlin's  name,  make  so  bold,  then  ? ' 

*  Ay,  the  toppermost  class  nowadays  have  left  off 
the  use  of  wheels  for  the  good  of  their  constitutions, 
so  they  traipse  and  walk  for  many  years  up  foreign 
hills,  where  you  can  see  nothing  but  snow  and  fog,  till 
there's  no  more  left  to  walk  up  ;  and  if  they  reach 
home  alive,  and  ha'n't  got  too  old  and  weared  out, 
they  walk  and  see  a  little  of  their  own  parishes.     So 

4 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

they  tower  about  with  a  pack  and  a  stick  and  a  clane 
white  pocket-handerchief  over  their  hats  just  as  >'ou 
see  he's  got  on  his.  He's  been  staying  here  a  night 
and  is  off  now  again.  ''  Young  man,  young  man,  I 
think  to  myself,  "  if  your  shoulders  were  bent  like  a 
bandy  and  your  knees  bowed  out  as  mine  be,  till  there 
is  not  an  inch  of  straight  bone  or  gristle  in  'ee,^  th 
wouldstn't  go  doing  hard  work  for  play  'a  b'lieve. 

'True,  true,  upon  my  song.  Such  a  pain  as  I 
have  had  in  my  lynes  all  this  day  to  be  sure  ;  words 
don't  know  what  shipwreck  I  suffer  in  these  lynes  o 
mine— that  they  do  not !  And  what  was  this  young 
widow  lady's  maiden  name,  then,  hostler  ?  Folk  have 
been  peeping  after  her,  that's  true  ;  but  they  don  t 
seem  to  know  much  about  her  family.' 

*  And  while  I've  tended  horses  fifty  year  that  other 
folk  might  straddle  'em,  here  I  be  now  not  a  penny 
the  better  !  Often-times,  when  I  see  so  many  good 
things  about,  I  feel  inclined  to  help  myself  in  common 
justice  to  my  pocket. 

*  Work  hard  and  be  poor. 
Do  nothing  and  get  more. 

But  I  draw  in  the  horns  of  my  mind  and  think  to 
mvself,  ''Forbear,  hostler,  forbear !  "  —  Her  maiden 
name?  Faith,  I  don't  know  the  woman's  maiden 
name,  though  she  said  to  me,  "  Good  evening,  John  ; " 
but  I  had  no  memory  of  ever  seeing  her  afore— no,  no 
more  than  the  dead  inside  church-hatch— where  I  sha  1 
soon  be  likewise— I  had  not.  ''  Ay,  my  nabs,'  I  think 
to  myself,    "more  know  Tom    Fool  than  Tom   i^ooi 

knows."'  ,j 

'More  know  Tom  Fool  — what  rambling  old 
canticle  is  it  you  say,  hostler?'  inquired  the  milkman, 
liftino-  his  ear.  '  Let's  have  it  again— a  good  saying 
welllpit  out  is  a  Christmas  fire  to  my  withered  heart. 

More  know  Tom  Fool ' 

'  Than  Tom  Fool  knows,'  said  the  hostler. 
*  Ah  !     That's  the  very  feeling  I've  feeled  over  and 

5 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

over  again,  hostler,  but  not  In  such  gifted  language. 
'TIs  a  thought  I've  had  in  me  for  years,  and  never 
could  lick  into  shape! — 0-ho-ho-ho  !  Splendid!  Say 
it  again,  hostler,  say  it  again  !  To  hear  my  own  poor 
notion  that  had  no  name  brought  into  form  like  that 
— I  wouldn't  ha'  lost  It  for  the  world !  More  knovi 
Tom  Fool  than — than — h-ho-ho-ho-ho  !  * 

*  Don't  let  your  sense  o'  fitness  break  out  in  such 
uproar,  for  heaven's  sake,  or  folk  will  surely  think 
you've  been  laughing  at  the  lady  and  gentleman. 
Well,  here's  at  it  again — Night  t'ee,  Michael.'  And 
the  hostler  went  on  with  his  sweeping. 

*  Night  t'ee,  hostler,  1  must  move  too,'  said  the 
milkman,  shouldering  his  yoke,  and  walking  off;  and 
there  reached  the  inn  in  a  gradual  diminuendo,  as  he 
receded  up  the  street,  shakinor  his  head  convulsively, 
'  More  know — Tom  Fool — than  Tom  Fool — ho-ho- 
ho-ho-ho  ! ' 

The  '  Red  Lion,'  as  the  inn  or  hotel  was  called 
w4iich  of  late  years  had  become  the  fashion  among 
tourists,  because  of  the  absence  from  its  precincts  of 
all  that  was  fashionable  and  new,  stood  near  the 
middle  of  the  town,  and  formed  a  corner  where  in 
winter  the  winds  whistled  and  assembled  their  forces 
previous  to  plunging  helter-skelter  along  the  streets. 
In  summer  it  was  a  fresh  and  pleasant  spot,  convenient 
for  such  quiet  characters  as  sojourned  there  to  study 
the  geology  and  beautiful  natural  features  of  the 
country  round. 

The  lady  whose  appearance  had  asserted  a  differ- 
ence between  herself  and  the  Anglebury  people, 
without  too  clearly  showing  what  that  difference  was, 
passed  out  of  the  town  In  a  few  moments  and,  follow- 
ing the  highway  across  meadows  fed  by  the  Froom, 
she  crossed  the  railway  and  soon  got  into  a  lonely 
heath.  She  had  been  watching  the  base  of  a  cloud  as 
it  closed  dow^n  upon  the  line  of  a  distant  ridge,  like  an 
upper  upon  a  lower  eyelid,  shutting  in  the  gaze  of  the 
evening  sun.      She  was  about  to  return  before  dusk 

6 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

came  on,  when  she  heard  a  commotion  in  the  air 
immediately  behind  and  above  her  head.  The 
saunterer  looked  up  and  saw  a  wild-duck  flying  along 
with  the  greatest  violence,  just  in  its  rear  being 
another  large  bird,  which  a  countryman  would  have 
pronounced  to  be  one  of  the  biggest  duck-hawks  that 
he  had  ever  beheld.  The  hawk  neared  its  intended 
victim,    and    the    duck    screamed    and    redoubled    its 

efforts. 

Ethelberta  impulsively  started  off  in  a  rapid  run 
that  would  have  made  a  litde  dog  bark  with  delight 
and  run  after,  her  object  being,  if  possible,  to  see  the 
end  of  this  desperate  struggle  for  a  life  so  small  and 
unheard-of.  Her  stateliness  went  away,  and  it  could 
be  forgiven  for  not  remaining  ;  for  her  feet  suddenly 
became  as  quick  as  Angers,  and  she  raced  along  over 
the  uneven  ground  with  such  force  of  tread  that,  being 
a  woman  slightly  heavier  than  gossamer,  her  patent 
heels  punched  fittle  D's  in  the  soil  with  unerring 
accuracy  wherever  it  was  bare,  crippled  the  heather- 
twigs  where  it  was  not,  and  sucked  the  swampy  places 
with  a  sound  of  quick  kisses. 

Her  rate  of  advance  was  not  to  be  compared  with 
that  of  the  two  birds,  though  she  went  swiftly  enough 
to  keep  them  well  in  sight  in  such  an  open  place  as 
that  around  her,  having  at  one  point  in  the  journey 
been  so  near  that  she  could  hear  the  whisk  of  the 
duck's  feathers  against  the  wind  as  it  lifted  and 
lowered  its  wings.  When  the  bird  seemed  to  be  but 
a  few  yards  from  its  enemy  she  saw  it  strike  down- 
wards, and  after  a  level  flight  of  a  quarter  of  a  minute, 
vanish.  The  hawk  swooped  after,  and  Ethelberta 
now  perceived  a  whitely  shining  oval  of  still  water, 
lookino-  amid  the  swarthv  level  of  the  heath  like  a  hole 
through  to  a  nether  sky. 

Into  this  large  pond,  which  the  duck  had  been 
making  towards  from  the  beginning  of  its  precipitate 
flight,  it  had  dived  out  of  sight.  The  excited  and 
breathless  runner  was  in  a  few  moments  close  enough 

7 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

to  see  the  disappointed  hawk  hovering  and  floating  in 
the  air  as  if  waiting  for  the  reappearance  of  its  prey, 
upon  which  grim  pastime  it  was  so  intent  that  by 
creeping  along  softly  she  was  enabled  to  get  very  near 
the  edge  of  the  pool  and  witness  the  conclusion  of  the 
episode.  Whenever  the  duck  was  under  the  necessity 
of  showing  its  head  to  breathe,  the  other  bird  would 
dart  towards  it,  invariably  too  late,  however  ;  for  the 
diver  was  far  too  experienced  in  the  rough  humour  of 
the  buzzard  family  at  this  game  to  come  up  twice  near 
the  same  spot,  unaccountably  emerging  from  opposite 
sides  of  the  pool  in  succession,  and  bobbing  again  by 
the  time  its  adversary  reached  each  place,  so  that  at 
length  the  hawk  gave  up  the  contest  and  flew  away, 
a  Satanic  moodiness  being  almost  perceptible  in  the 
motion  of  its  wings. 

The  young  lady  now  looked  around  her  for  the 
first  time,  and  began  to  perceive  that  she  had  run  a 
long  distance  —  very  much  further  than  she  had 
orginally  intended  to  come.  Her  eyes  had  been  so 
long  fixed  upon  the  hawk,  as  it  soared  against  the 
bright  and  mottled  field  of  sky,  that  on  regarding  the 
heather  and  plain  again  it  was  as  if  she  had  returned 
to  a  half-forgotten  region  after  an  absence,  and  the 
whole  prospect  was  darkened  to  one  uniform  shade  of 
approaching  night.  She  began  at  once  to  retrace  her 
steps,  but  having  been  indiscriminately  wheeling  round 
the  pond  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  performance,  and 
having  followed  no  path  thither,  she  found  the  proper 
direction  of  her  journey  to  be  a  matter  of  some  un- 
certainty. 

•  Surely,'  she  said  to  herself,  *  I  faced  the  north  at 
starting : '  and  yet  on  walking  now  with  her  back 
where  her  face  had  been  set,  she  did  not  approach  any 
marks  on  the  horizon  which  might  seem  to  signify  the 
town.  Thus  dubiously,  but  with  little  real  concern, 
she  walked  on  till  the  evening  light  began  to  turn  to 
dusk,  and  the  shadows  to  darkness. 

Presendy  in  front  of  her  Ethelberta  saw  a  white 

8 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

spot  in  the  shade,  and  it  proved  to  be  in  some  way 
attached  to  the  head  of. a  man  who  was  coming  to- 
wards her  out  of  a  sHght  depression  in  the  ground. 
It  was  as  yet  too  early  in  the  evening  to  be  afraid,  but 
it  was  too  late  to  be  altogether  courageous  ;  and  with 
balanced  sensations  Ethelberta  kept  her  eye  sharply 
upon  him  as  he  rose  by  degrees  into  view.  The 
peculiar  arrangement  of  his  hat  and  pugree  soon  struck 
her  as  being  that  she  had  casually  noticed  on  a  peg  in 
one  of  the  rooms  of  the  '  Red  Lion,'  and  when  he 
came  close  she  saw  that  his  arms  diminished  to  a 
peculiar  smallness  at  their  junction  with  his  shoulders, 
like  those  of  a  doll,  which  was  explained  by  their  being 
girt  round  at  that  point  with  the  straps  of  a  knapsack 
that  he  carried  behind  him.  Encouraged  by  the 
probability  that  he,  like  herself,  was  staying  or  had 
been  staying  at  the  *  Red  Lion,'  she  said,  '  Can  you 
tell  me  if  this  is  the  way  back  to  Anglebury  ? ' 

'  It  is  one  way  ;  but  the  nearest  is  in  this  direction,' 
said  the  tourist — the  same  who  had  been  criticized  by 
the  two  old  men. 

At  hearing  him  speak  all  the  delicate  activities  in 
the  young  lady's  person  stood  still  :  she  stopped  like  a 
clock.  When  she  could  again  fence  with  the  percep- 
tion which  had  caused  all  this  she  breathed. 

'Mr.  Julian!'  she  exclaimed.  The  words  were 
uttered  in  a  way  which  would  have  told  anybody  in  a 
moment  that  here  lay  something  connected  with  the 
light  of  other  days. 

•Ah,  Mrs.  Petherwinl — Yes,  I  am  Mr.  Julian — 
though  that  can  matter  very  little,  I  should  think, 
after  all  these  years,  and  what  has  passed.' 

No  remark  was  returned  to  this  rugged  reply,  and 
he  continued  unconcernedly,  '  Shall  I  put  you  in  the 
path — it  is  just  here?* 

'  If  you  please/ 

'Come  with  me,  then.* 

She  walked  in  silence  at  his  heels,  not  a  word 
passing  between  them  all  the  way  :    the   only  noises 

9 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

which  came  from  the  two  were  the  brushing  of  her 
dress  and  his  gaiters  against  the  heather,  or  the  smart 
rap  of  a  stray  flint  against  his  boot. 

They  had  now  reached  a  httle  knoll,  and  he  turned 
abruptly  :  *  That  Is  Anglebury — ^just  where  you  see 
those  lights.  The  path  down  there  Is  the  one  you 
must  follow ;  It  leads  round  the  hill  yonder  and 
directly  Into  the  town.' 

'  Thank  you,'  she  murmured,  and  found  that  he 
had  never  removed  his  eyes  from  her  since  speaking, 
keeping  them  fixed  with  mathematical  exactness  upon 
one  point  In  her  face.  She  moved  a  little  to  go  on 
her  way  ;  he  moved  a  little  less — to  go  on  his. 

*  Good-night,'  said  Mr.  Julian. 

The  moment,  upon  the  very  face  of  It,  was  critical  ; 
and  yet  It  was  one  of  those  which  have  to  wait  for  a 
future  before  they  acquire  a  definite  character  as  good 
or  bad. 

Thus  much  would  have  been  obvious  to  any 
outsider ;  It  may  have  been  doubly  so  to  Ethelberta, 
for  she  gave  back  more  than  she  had  got,  replying, 
'  Good-bye — If  you  are  going  to  say  no  more.' 

Then  in  struck  Mr.  Julian:  'What  can  I  say  .'^ 
You  are  nothing  to  me.  ...  I  could  forgive  a  woman 
doing  anything  for  spite,  except  marrying  for  spite.' 

*  The  connection  of  that  with  our  present  meeting 
does  not  appear,  unless  It  refers  to  what  you  have 
done.      It  does  not  refer  to  me.' 

'  I  am  not  married  :  you  are.' 

She  did  not  contradict  him,  as  she  might  have 
done.  'Christopher,'  she  said  at  last,  'this  is  how  it 
is :  you  knew  too  much  of  me  to  respect  me,  and  too 
little  to  pity  me.  A  half  knowledge  of  another's  life 
mostly  does  injustice  to  the  life  half  known.' 

'  Then  since  I  can  hardly  get  to  know  you  more, 
I  must  do  my  best  to  know  you  less,  and  elevate 
my  opinion  of  your  nature  by  forgetting  what  it 
consists  In,'  he  said,  in  a  voice  from  which  all  feeling 
was  polished  away. 

lO 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'  If  I  did  not  know  that  bitterness  had  more  to  do 
with  those  words  than  judgment,  I — should  be — bitter 
too  !  You  never  knew  hah^  about  me  ;  you  only  knew 
me  as  a  governess  ;  you  little  think  what  my  begin- 
nings were.' 

'  I  have  guessed.  I  have  many  times  told  myself 
that  your  early  life  was  superior  to  your  position  when 
I  first  met  you.  I  think  I  may  say  without  presump- 
tion that  I  recognize  a  lady  by  birth  when  I  see  her, 
even  under  reverses  of  an  extreme  kind.  And 
certainly  there  is  this  to  be  said,  that  the  fact  of  having 
been  bred  in  a  wealthy  home  does  slightly  redeem  an 
attempt  to  attain  to  such  a  one  again.' 

Ethelberta  smiled  a  smile  of  many  meanings. 

'  However,  we  are  wasting  w^ords,'  he  resumed 
cheerfully.  '  It  is  better  for  us  to  part  as  we  met,  and 
coiitinue  to  be  the  strangers  that  we  have  become  to 
each  other.  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  having  been 
betrayed  into  more  feeling  than  I  had  a  right  to  show, 
and  let  us  part  friends.  Good  night,  Mrs.  Petherwin, 
and  success  to  you.  We  may  meet  again,  some  day, 
I  hope.' 

'Good  night,'  she  said,  extending  her  hand.  He 
touched  it,  turned  about,  and  in  a  short  time  nothing 
remained  of  him  but  quick  regular  brushings  against 
the  heather  in  the  deep  broad  shadow  of  the  moor. 

Ethelberta  slowly  moved  on  in  the  direction  that 
he  had  pointed  out.  This  meeting  had  surprised  her 
in  several  ways.  First,  there  was  the  conjuncture 
itself;  but  more  than  that  was  the  fact  that  he  had 
not  parted  from  her  with  any  of  the  tragic  resentment 
that  she  had  from  time  to  time  imagined  for  that  scene 
if  it  ever  occurred.  Yet  there  was  really  nothing 
wonderful  in  this  :  it  is  part  of  the  generous  nature  of 
a  bachelor  to  be  not  indisposed  to  forgive  a  portionless 
sweetheart  who,  by  marrying  elsewhere,  has  deprived 
him  of  the  bliss'  of  being  obliged  to  marry  her 
himself.  Ethelberta  would  have  been  disappointed 
quite  had  there  not  been  a  comforting    development 

71 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

of  exasperation  in  the  middle  part  of  his  talk  ;  but 
after  all  it  formed  a  poor  substitute  for  the  loving 
hatred  she  had  expected. 

When  she  reached  the  hotel  the  lamp  over  the 
door  showed  a  face  a  little  flushed,  but  the  agitation 
which  at  first  had  possessed  her  was  gone  to  a  mere 
nothing.  In  the  hall  she  met  a  slender  woman 
wearing  a  silk  dress  of  that  peculiar  black  which  in 
sunlight  proclaims  itself  to  have  once  seen  better  days 
as  a  brown,  and  days  even  better  than  those  as  a 
lavender,  green,  or  blue. 

'  Menlove,'  said  the  lady,  'did  3^ou  notice  if  any 
gentleman  observed  and  followed  me  when  I  left  the 
hotel  to  go  for  a  walk  this  evening  ? ' 

The  lady's-maid,  thus  suddenly  pulled  up  in  a 
night  forage  after  lovers,  put  a  hand  to  her  forehead  to 
show  that  there  was  no  mistake  about  her  having 
begun  to  meditate  on  receiving  orders  to  that  effect, 
and  said  at  last,  'You  once  told  me,  ma'am,  if  you 
recollect,  that  when  you  were  dressed,  I  was  not  to  go 
staring  out  of  the  window  after  you  as  if  you  were  a 
doll  I  had  just  manufactured  and  sent  round  for  sale.* 

'  Yes,  so  I  did.' 

'  So  I  didn't  see  if  anybody  followed  you  this 
evening.' 

'  Then  did  you  hear  any  gentleman  arrive  here  by 
the  late  train  last  night  ? ' 

'O  no,  ma'am — how  could  I  ?'  said  Mrs.  Menlove 
— an  exclamation  which  was  more  apposite  than  her 
mistress  suspected,  considering  that  the  speaker,  after 
retiring  from  duty,  had  slipped  down  her  dark  skirt  to 
reveal  a  light,  puffed,  and  festooned  one,  put  on  a  hat 
and  feather,  together  with  several  pennyweights  of 
metal  in  the  form  of  rings,  brooches,  and  earrings — all 
in  a  time  whilst  one  could  count  a  hundred — and 
enjoyed  half-an-hour  of  prime  courtship  by  an  honour- 
able young  waiter  of  the  town,  who  had  proved 
constant  as  the  magnet  to  the  pole  for  the  space  of  the 
day  and  a  half  that  she  had  known  him. 

12 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Going  at  once  upstairs,  Ethelberta  ran  down  the 
passage,  and  after  some  hesitation  softly  opened  the 
door  of  the  sitting-room  in  the  best  suite  of  apartments 
that  the  inn  could  boast  of 

In  this  room  sat  an  elderly  lady  writing  by  the 
light  of  two  candles  with  green  shades.  Well  know- 
ing, as  it  seemed,  who  the  intruder  was,  she  continued 
her  occupation,  and  her  visitor  advanced  and  stood 
beside  the  table.  The  old  lady  wore  her  spectacles 
low  down  her  cheek,  her  glance  being  depressed  to 
about  the  slope  of  her  straight  white  nose  in  order  to 
look  through  them.  Her  mouth  was  pursed  up  to 
almost  a  youthful  shape  as  she  formed  the  letters  with 
her  pen,  and  a  slight  move  of  the  lip  accompanied 
every  downstroke.  There  were  two  large  antique 
rings  on  her  forefinger,  against  which  the  quill  rubbed 
in  moving  backwards  and  forwards,  thereby  causing  a 
secondary  noise  rivalling  the  primary  one  of  the  nib 
upon  the  paper. 

'Mamma,'  said  the  younger  lady,  'here  I  am  at 
last.' 

A  writers  mind  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  being 
like  a  ship  at  sea,  knowing  no  rest  or  comfort  till  safely 
piloted  into  the  harbour  of  a  full  stop,  Lady  Petherwin 
just  replied  with  'What,'  in  an  occupied  tone,  not 
rising  to  interrogation.  After  signing  her  name  to  the 
letter,  she  raised  her  eyes. 

'  Why,  how  late  you  are,  Ethelberta,  and  how 
heated  you  look ! '  she  said.  '  I  have  been  quite 
alarmed  about  you.     What  do  you  say  has  happened  ?  ' 

The  great,  chief,  and  altogether  eclipsing  thing 
that  had  happened  was  the  accidental  meeting  with  an 
old  lover  whom  she  had  once  quarrelled  with  ;  and 
Ethelberta's  honesty  would  have  delivered  the  tidings 
at  once,  had  not,  unfortunately,  all  the  rest  of  her 
attributes  been  dead  against  that  act,  for  the  old  lady's 
sake  even  more  than  for  her  own. 

'  I  saw  a  great  cruel  bird  chasing  a  harmless  duck!* 
she  exclaimed  innocently.     '  And  I  ran  after  to  see 

13 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

what  the  end  of  it  would  be — much  further  than  I  had 
any  idea  of  golng^.  However,  the  duck  came  to  a 
pond,  and  in  running  round  it  to  see  the  end  of  the 
fight,  I  could  not  remember  which  way  I  had  come.' 

'  Mercy  ! '  said  her  mother-in-law,  lifting  her  large 
eyelids,  heavy  as  window-shutters,  and  spreading  out 
her  fingers  like  the  horns  of  a  snail.  '  You  might  have 
sunk  up  to  your  knees  and  got  lost  in  that  swampy 
place — such  a  time  of  night,  too.  What  a  tomboy 
you  are  !  And  how  did  you  find  your  way  home  after 
all!' 

'  O,  some  man  showed  me  the  way,  and  then  I  had 
no  difficulty,  and  after  that  I  came  along  leisurely.' 

'  I  thought  you  had  been  running  all  the  way ;  you 
look  so  warm.' 

*  It  is  a  warm  evening.  .  .  .  Yes,  and  I  have  been 
thinking  of  old  times  as  1  walked  along,'  she  said,  'and 
how  people's  positions  in  life  alter.  Have  I  not  heard 
you  say  that  while  I  was  at  Bonn,  at  school,  some 
family  that  we  had  known  had  their  household  broken 
up  when  the  father  died,  and  that  the  children  went 
away  you  didn't  know  where  ?  * 

'  Do  you  mean  the  Julians  ?  *     ' 

*  Yes,  that  was  the  name.' 

'Why,  of  course  you  know  it  was  the  Julians. 
Young  Julian  had  a  day  or  two's  fancy  for  you  one 
summer,  had  he  not  i^ — just  after  you  came  to  us,  at 
the  same  time,  or  just  before  it,  that  my  poor  boy  and 
you  were  so  desperately  attached  to  each  other.* 

'O  yes,  I  recollect,'  said  Ethelberta.  'And  he 
had  a  sister,  I  think.  I  wonder  where  they  went  to 
live  after  the  family  collapse.* 

'  I  do  not  know,'  said  Lady  Petherwin,  taking  up 
another  sheet  of  paper.  '  I  have  a  dim  notion  that 
the  son,  who  had  been  brought  up  to  no  profession, 
became  a  teacher  of  music  in  some  country  town — 
music  having  always  been  his  hobby.  But  the  facts 
are  not  very  distinct  in  my  memory.'  And  she  dipped 
her  pen  for  another  letter. 

14 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Eihelberta,  with  a  rather  fallen  countenance,  then 
left  her  mother-in-law,  and  went  where  all  ladies  are 
supposed  to  go  when  they  want  to  torment  their  minds 
in  comfort — to  her  own  room.  Here  she  thoughtfully 
sat  down  awhile,  and  some  time  later  she  rang  for  her 
maid. 

'  Menlove,'  she  said,  without  looking  towards  a 
rustle  and  half  a  footstep  that  had  just  come  in  at  the 
door,  but  leaning  back  in  her  chair  and  speaking 
towards  the  corner  of  the  looking-glass,  *  will  you  go 
down  and  find  out  if  any  gentleman  named  Julian  has 
been  staying  in  this  house  ?  Get  to  know  it,  I  mean, 
Menlove,  not  by  directly  inquiring  ;  you  have  ways  of 
getting  to  know  things,  have  you  not  ?  If  the  devoted 
George  were  here  now,  he  would  help ' 

*  George  was  nothing  to  me,  ma'am.' 

*  James,  then.' 

'And  I  only  had  James  for  a  week  or  ten  days: 
when  I  found  he  was  a  married  man,  I  encouraged  his 
addresses  very  little  indeed.' 

'  If  you  had  encouraged  him  heart  and  soul,  you 
couldn't  have  fumed  more  at  the  loss  of  him.  But 
please  to  go  and  make  that  inquiry,  will  you, 
Menlove  ?' 

In  a  few  minutes  Ethelberta's  woman  was  back 
again.  'A  gentleman  of  that  name  stayed  here  last 
night,  and  left  this  afternoon.' 

*  Will  you  find  out  his  address  ?  * 

Now  the  lady's-maid  had  already  been  quick-witted 
enough  to  find  out  that,  and  indeed  all  about  him ;  but 
it  chanced  that  a  fashionable  illustrated  weekly  paper 
had  just  been  sent  from  the  bookseller's,  and  being  in 
want  of  a  little  time  to  look  it  over  before  it  reached 
her  mistress's  hands,  Mrs.  Menlove  retired,  as  if  to  go 
and  ask  the  question — to  stand  meanwhile  under  the 
gas-lamp  in  the  passage,  inspecting  the  fascinating 
engravings.  But  as  time  will  not  wait  for  tire-women, 
a  natural  length  of  absence  soon  elapsed,  and  she 
returned  again  and  said, 

IS 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  His  address  Is,  Upper  Street,  Sandbourne.' 
'  Thank  you,  that  will  do,'  replied  her  mistress. 
The  hour  grew  later,  and  that  dreamy  period  came 
round  when  ladies'  fancies,  that  have  lain  shut  up  close 
as  their  fans  during  the  day,  begin  to  assert  them- 
selves anew.  At  this  time  a  good  guess  at  Ethelberta's 
thoughts  might  have  been  made  from  her  manner  of 
passing  the  minutes  away.  Instead  of  reading,  enter- 
ing notes  in  her  diary,  or  doing  any  ordinary  thing, 
she  walked  to  and  fro,  curled  her  pretty  nether  lip 
within  her  pretty  upper  one  a  great  many  times,  made 
a  cradle  of  her  locked  fingers,  and  paused  with  fixed 
eyes  where  the  walls  of  the  room  set  limits  upon  her 
walk  to  look  at  nothing  but  a  picture  within  her  mind. 


CHRISTOPHEJ^S  HOUSE 
SAND  BOURNE  TOWN 

SANDBOURNE  MOOR 

II 

During  the  wet  autumn  of  the  same  year,  the  postman 
passed  one  morning  as  usual  into  a  plain  street  that 
ran  through  the  less  fashionable  portion  of  Sandbourne, 
a  modern  coast  town  and  watering-place  not  many 
miles  from  the  ancient  Anglebury.  He  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  flat-faced  brick  house,  and  it  was  opened 
by  a  slight,  thoughtful  young  man,  with  his  hat  on, 
just  then  coming  out.  The  postman  put  into  his 
hands  a  book  packet,  addressed,  'Christopher  Julian, 
Esq.' 

Christopher  took  the  package  upstairs,  opened  it 
with  curiosity,  and  discovered  within  a  green  volume 
of  poems,  by  an  anonymous  writer,  the  title-page  bear- 
ing the  inscription,  '  Metres  by  E.'  The  book  was 
new,  though  it  was  cut,  and  it  appeared  to  have  been 
looked  into.  The  young  man,  after  turning  it  over 
and  wondering  where  it  came  from,  laid  it  on  the  table 
and  went  his  way,  being  in  haste  to  fulfil  his  engage- 
ments for  the  day. 

In  the  evening,  on  returning  home  from  his  occupa- 
tions, he  sat  himself  down  cosily  to  read  the  newly- 
arrived  volume.  The  winds  of  this  uncertain  season 
were  snarling  in  the  chimneys,  and  drops  of  rain  spat 
themselves   into   the    fire,   revealing   plainly   that  the 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  I  never  saw  any  of  them.  I  think  I  remember 
your  knowing  something  about  a  young  man  of  that 
name.' 

'  Yes,  that  was  the  family.  Well,  the  governess 
there  was  a  very  attractive  woman,  and  somehow  or 
other  I  got  more  interested  in  her  than  I  ought  to 
have  done  (this  is  necessary  to  the  history),  and  we 
used  to  meet  in  romantic  places — and — and  that  kind 
of  thing,  you  know.  The  end  of  it  was,  she  jilted  me 
and  married  the  son.' 

*  You  were  anxious  to  get  away  from  Solentsea.' 

*  Was  I  ?  Then  that  was  chiefly  the  reason.  Well, 
I  decided  to  think  no  more  of  her,  and  I  was  helped 
to  do  it  by  the  troubles  that  came  upon  us  shortly 
afterwards ;  it  is  a  blessed  arrangement  that  one  does 
not  feel  a  sentimental  grief  at  all  when  additional  grief 
comes  in  the  shape  of  practical  misfortune.  However, 
on  the  first  afternoon  of  the  little  holiday  I  took  for  my 
walking  tour  last  summer,  I  came  to  Anglebury,  and 
stayed  about  the  neighbourhood  for  a  day  or  two  to 
see  what  it  was  like,  thinking  we  might  settle  there  if 
this  place  failed  us.  The  next  evening  I  left,  and 
walked  across  the  heath  to  Flychett — that's  a  village 
about  five  miles  further  on — so  as  to  be  that  distance 
on  my  way  for  next  morning  ;  and  while  I  was  crossing 
the  heath  there  I  met  this  very  woman.  We  talked  a 
little,  because  we  couldn't  help  it — you  may  imagine 
the  kind  of  talk  it  was — and  parted  as  coolly  as  we 
had  met.  Now  this  strange  book  comes  to  me  ;  and  I 
have  a  strong  conviction  that  she  is  the  writer  of  it,  for 
that  poem  sketches  a  similar  scene — or  rather  suggests 
it ;  and  the  tone  generally  seems  the  kind  of  thing  she 
would  write — not  that  she  was  a  sad  woman,  either.' 

'She  seems  to  be  a  warm-hearted,  impulsive 
woman,  to  judge  from  these  tender  verses.' 

*  People  who  print  very  warm  words  have  some- 
times very  cold  manners.  I  wonder  if  it  is  really  her 
writing,  and  if  she  has  sent  it  to  me !  * 

*  Would  it  not  be  a  singular  thing  for  a  married 

2Q 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

woman  to  do  ?  Though  of  course ' — (she  removed 
her  spectacles  as  if  they  hindered  her  from  thinking, 
and  hid  them  under  the  timepiece  till  she  should  go 
on  reading)  — '  of  course  poets  have  morals  and 
manners  of  their  own,  and  custom  is  no  argument 
with  them.  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have  sent  it  to  a 
man  for  the  world  ! ' 

*  I  do  not  see  any  absolute  harm  in  her  sending  it. 
Perhaps  she  thinks  that,  since  it  is  all  over,  we  may  as 
well  die  friends.' 

*  If  I  were  her  husband  I  should  have  doubts  about 
the  dying.  And  "all  over"  may  not  be  so  plain  to 
other  people  as  it  is  to  you.' 

*  Perhaps  not.  And  when  a  man  checks  all  a 
woman's  finer  sentiments  towards  him  by  marrying 
her,  it  is  only  natural  that  it  should  find  a  vent  some- 
where. However,  she  probably  does  not  know  of  my 
downfall  since  father's  death.  I  hardly  think  she 
would  have  cared  to  do  it  had  she  known  that.  (I 
am  assuming  that  it  is  Ethelberta — Mrs.  Petherwin — 
who  sends  it  :  of  course  I  am  not  sure.)  We  must 
remember  that  when  I  knew  her  I  was  a  gentleman  at 
ease,  who  had  not  the  least  notion  that  I  should  have  to 
work  for  a  living,  and  not  only  so,  but  should  have  first 
to  invent  a  profession  to  work  at  out  of  my  old  tastes.' 

'  Kit,  you  have  made  two  mistakes  in  your  thoughts 
of  that  lady.  Even  though  I  don't  know  her,  I  can 
show  you  that.  Now  I'll  tell  you!  the  first  is  in 
thinking  that  a  married  lady  would  send  the  book 
with  that  poem  in  it  without  at  any  rate  a  slight  doubt 
as  to  its  propriety  :  the  second  is  in  supposing  that, 
had  she  wished  to  do  it,  she  would  have  given  the 
thing  up  because  of  our  misfortunes.  With  a  true 
woman  the  second  reason  would  have  had  no  effect 
had  she  once  got  over  the  first.  I'm  a  woman,  and 
that's  why  I  know.' 

Christopher  said  nothing,  and  turned  over  the 
poems. 

81 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  I  never  saw  any  of  them.  I  think  I  remember 
your  knowing  something  about  a  young  man  of  that 
name.' 

*  Yes,  that  was  the  family.  Well,  the  governess 
there  was  a  very  attractive  woman,  and  somehow  or 
other  I  got  more  interested  in  her  than  I  ought  to 
have  done  (this  is  necessary  to  the  history),  and  we 
used  to  meet  in  romantic  places — and — and  that  kind 
of  thing,  you  know.  The  end  of  it  was,  she  jilted  me 
and  married  the  son.' 

*  You  were  anxious  to  get  away  from  Solentsea.' 

'  Was  I  ?  Then  that  was  chiefly  the  reason.  Well, 
I  decided  to  think  no  more  of  her,  and  I  was  helped 
to  do  it  by  the  troubles  that  came  upon  us  shortly 
afterwards ;  it  is  a  blessed  arrangement  that  one  does 
not  feel  a  sentimental  grief  at  all  when  additional  grief 
comes  in  the  shape  of  practical  misfortune.  However, 
on  the  first  afternoon  of  the  little  holiday  I  took  for  my 
walking  tour  last  summer,  I  came  to  Anglebury,  and 
stayed  about  the  neighbourhood  for  a  day  or  two  to 
see  what  it  was  like,  thinking  we  might  settle  there  if 
this  place  failed  us.  The  next  evening  I  left,  and 
walked  across  the  heath  to  Flychett — that's  a  village 
about  five  miles  further  on — so  as  to  be  that  distance 
on  my  way  for  next  morning  ;  and  while  I  was  crossing 
the  heath  there  I  met  this  very  woman.  We  talked  a 
little,  because  we  couldn't  help  it — you  may  imagine 
the  kind  of  talk  it  was — and  parted  as  coolly  as  we 
had  met.  Now  this  strange  book  comes  to  me  ;  and  I 
have  a  strong  conviction  that  she  is  the  writer  of  it,  for 
that  poem  sketches  a  similar  scene — or  rather  suggests 
it ;  and  the  tone  generally  seems  the  kind  of  thing  she 
would  write — not  that  she  was  a  sad  woman,  either.' 

'She  seems  to  be  a  warm-hearted,  impulsive 
woman,  to  judge  from  these  tender  verses.' 

*  People  who  print  very  warm  words  have  some- 
times very  cold  manners.  I  wonder  if  it  is  really  her 
writing,  and  if  she  has  sent  it  to  me ! ' 

*  Would  it  not  be  a  singular  thing  for  a  married 

20 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

woman  to  do  ?  Though  of  course ' — (she  removed 
her  spectacles  as  if  they  hindered  her  from  thinking, 
and  hid  them  under  the  timepiece  till  she  should  go 
on  reading)  — '  of  course  poets  have  morals  and 
manners  of  their  own,  and  custom  is  no  argument 
with  them.  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have  sent  it  to  a 
man  for  the  world  ! ' 

'  I  do  not  see  any  absolute  harm  in  her  sending  it. 
Perhaps  she  thinks  that,  since  it  is  all  over,  we  may  as 
well  die  friends.' 

*  If  I  were  her  husband  I  should  have  doubts  about 
the  dying.  And  "all  over"  may  not  be  so  plain  to 
other  people  as  it  is  to  you.' 

*  Perhaps  not.  And  when  a  man  checks  all  a 
woman's  finer  sentiments  towards  him  by  marrying 
her,  it  is  only  natural  that  it  should  find  a  vent  some- 
where. However,  she  probably  does  not  know  of  my 
downfall  since  father's  death.  I  hardly  think  she 
would  have  cared  to  do  it  had  she  known  that.  (I 
am  assuming  that  it  is  Ethelberta — Mrs.  Petherwin — 
who  sends  it  :  of  course  I  am  not  sure.)  We  must 
remember  that  when  I  knew  her  I  was  a  gentleman  at 
ease,  who  had  not  the  least  notion  that  I  should  have  to 
work  for  a  living,  and  not  only  so,  but  should  have  first 
to  invent  a  profession  to  work  at  out  of  my  old  tastes.' 

*  Kit,  you  have  made  two  mistakes  in  your  thoughts 
of  that  lady.  Even  though  I  don't  know  her,  I  can 
show  you  that.  Now  I'll  tell  you!  the  first  is  in 
thinking  that  a  married  lady  would  send  the  book 
with  that  poem  in  it  without  at  any  rate  a  slight  doubt 
as  to  its  propriety  :  the  second  is  in  supposing  that, 
had  she  wished  to  do  it,  she  would  have  given  the 
thing  up  because  of  our  misfortunes.  With  a  true 
woman  the  second  reason  would  have  had  no  effect 
had  she  once  got  over  the  first.  I'm  a  woman,  and 
that's  why  I  know.' 

Christopher  said  nothing,  and  turned  over  the 
poems. 

31 


THE  HAxND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

He  lived  by  teaching  music,  and,  in  comparison 
with  starving,  thrived ;  though  the  wealthy  might 
possibly  have  said  that  in  comparison  with  thriving 
he  starved.  During  this  night  he  hummed  airs  in 
bed,  thought  he  would  do  for  the  ballad  of  the  fair 
poetess  what  other  musicians  had  done  for  the  ballads 
of  other  fair  poetesses,  and  dreamed  that  she  smiled 
on  him  as  her  prototype  Sappho  smiled  on  Phaon. 

The  next  morning  before  starting  on  his  rounds  a 
new  circumstance  induced  him  to  direct  his  steps  to 
the  bookseller's,  and  ask  a  question.  He  had  found 
on  examining  the  wrapper  of  the  volume  that  it  was 
posted  in  his  own  town. 

*  No  copy  of  the  book  has  been  sold  by  me,'  the 
bookseller's  voice  replied  from  far  up  the  Alpine 
height  of  the  shop-ladder,  where  he  stood  dusting 
stale  volumes,  as  was  his  habit  of  a  morning  before 
customers  came.  '  I  have  never  heard  of  it — probably 
never  shall '  ;  and  he  shook  out  the  duster,  so  as  to  hit 
the  delicate  mean  between  stifling  Christopher  and  not 
stifling  him. 

*  Surely  you  don't  live  by  your  shop?'  said 
Christopher,  drawing  back. 

The  bookseller's  eyes  rested  on  the  speaker's  ;  his 
face  changed  ;  he  came  down  and  placed  his  hand  on 
the  lapel  of  Christopher's  coat.  *  Sir,'  he  said,  '  I 
starve  by  it ;  country  bookselling  is  a  miserable,  im- 
poverishing, exasperating  thing  in  these  days.  Can 
you  understand  the  rest  ? ' 

'  I  can  ;  I  forgive  a  starving  man  anything,'  said 
Christopher. 

*  You  go  a  long  way  very  suddenly,'  said  the  book- 
seller. '  Half  as  much  pity  would  have  seemed  better. 
However,  wait  a  moment.'  He  looked  into  a  list  of 
new  books,  and  added  :  *  The  work  you  allude  to  was 
only  published  last  week  ;  though,  mind  you,  if  it  had 
been  published  last  century  I  might  not  have  sold  a 
copy.' 

Although  his  time  was  precious,  Christopher  had 

22 


A  COMEDY  LN  CHAPTERS 

now  become  so  interested  in  the  circumstance  that 
the  unseen  sender  was  somebody  breathing  his  own 
atmosphere,  possibly  the  very  writer  herself  —  the 
book  being  too  new  to  be  known — that  he  again 
passed  through  the  blue  shadow  of  the  spire  which 
stretched  across  the  street  to-day,  and  went  towards 
the  post-office,  animated  by  a  bright  intention — to  ask 
the  postmaster  if  he  knew  the  handwriting  in  which 
the  packet  was  addressed. 

Now  the  postmaster  was  an  acquaintance  of  Chris- 
topher's, but,  as  regarded  putting  that  question  to 
him,  there  was  a  difficulty.  Everything  turned  upon 
whether  the  postmaster  at  the  moment  of  asking 
would  be  in  his  under-government  manner,  or  in  the 
manner  with  which  mere  nature  had  endowed  him. 
In  the  latter  case  his  reply  would  be  all  that  could  be 
wished  ;  in  the  former,  a  man  who  had  sunk  in  society 
might  as  well  put  his  tongue  into  a  mousetrap  as  make 
an  inquiry  so  obviously  outside  the  pale  of  legality  as 
was  this. 

So  he  postponed  his  business  for  the  present,  and 
refrained  from  entering  till  he  passed  by  after  dinner, 
when  pleasant  malt  liquor,  of  that  capacity  for  cheering 
which  is  expressed  by  four  large  letter  X's  marching 
in  a  row,  had  refilled  the  globular  trunk  of  the  post- 
master and  neutralized  some  of  the  effects  of  officiality. 
The  time  was  well  chosen,  but  the  inquiry  threatened 
to  prove  fruitless  :  the  postmaster  had  never,  to  his 
knowledge,  seen  the  writing  before.  Christopher  was 
turning  away  when  a  clerk  in  the  background  looked 
up  and  stated  that  some  young  lady  had  brought  a 
packet  with  such  an  address  upon  it  into  the  office  two 
days  earlier  to  get  it  stamped. 

'  Do  you  know  her  ?  '  said  Christopher. 

*  I  have  seen  her  about  the  neighbourhood.  She 
goes  by  every  mornmg ;  I  think  she  comes  into  the 
town  from  two  or  three  miles  out,  and  returns  again 
between  four  and  five  in  the  afternoon.' 

'  What  does  she  wear  ?  ' 

23 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'A  white  wool  jacket  with  zigzags  of  black  braid.' 

Christopher  left  the  post-office  and  went  his  way. 
Among  his  other  pupils  there  were  two  who  lived  at 
some  distance  from  Sandbourne  across  some  meads — 
one  of  them  in  the  direction  indicated  as  that  habitu- 
ally taken  by  the  young  person  ;  and  in  the  afternoon, 
as  he  returned  homeward,  Christopher  loitered  and 
looked  around.  At  first  he  could  see  nobody ;  but 
when  about  a  mile  from  the  outskirts  of  the  town  he 
discerned  a  light  spot  ahead  of  him,  which  actually 
turned  out  to  be  the  jacket  alluded  to.  In  due  time 
he  met  the  wearer  face  to  face  ;  she  was  not  Ethel- 
berta  Petherwin — quite  a  different  sort  of  individual. 
He  had  long  made  up  his  mind  that  this  would  be 
the  case,  yet  he  was  in  some  indescribable  way  dis- 
appointed. 

Of  the  two  classes  into  which  gentle  young  women 
naturally  divide,  those  who  grow  red  at  their  weddings, 
and  those  who  grow  pale,  the  present  one  belonged 
to  the  former  class.  She  was  an  April-natured,  pink- 
cheeked  girl,  with  eyes  that  would  have  made  any 
jeweller  in  England  think  of  his  trade — one  who 
evidently  took  her  day  in  the  daytime,  frequently 
caught  the  early  worm,  and  had  little  to  do  with 
yawns  or  candlelight.  She  came  and  passed  him  ;  he 
fancied  that  her  countenance  changed.  But  one  may 
fancy  anything,  and  the  pair  receded  each  from  each 
without  turning  their  heads.  He  could  not  speak  to 
her,  plain  and  simple  as  she  seemed. 

It  is  rarely  that  a  man  who  can  be  entered  and 
made  to  throb  by  the  channel  of  his  ears  is  not  open 
to  a  similar  attack  through  the  channel  of  his  eyes — 
for  many  doors  will  admit  to  one  mansion — allowance 
being  made  for  the  readier  capacity  of  chosen  and 
practised  organs.  Hence  the  beauties,  concords,  and 
eloquences  of  the  female  form  were  never  without 
their  effect  upon  Christopher,  a  born  musician,  artist, 
poet,  seer,  mouthpiece  —  whichever  a  translator  of 
Nature's    oracles    into    simple  speech  may  be  called. 

24 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

The  young  girl  who  had  gone  by  was  fresh  and 
pleasant ;  moreover,  she  was  a  sort  of  mysterious 
link  between  himself  and  the  past,  which  these  things 
were  vividly  reviving  in  him. 

The  following  week  Christopher  met  her  again. 
She  had  not  much  dignity,  he  had  not  much  reserve, 
and  the  sudden  resolution  to  have  a  holiday  which 
sometimes  impels  a  plump  heart  to  rise  up  against  a 
brain  that  overweights  it  was  not  to  be  resisted.  He 
just  lifted  his  hat,  and  put  the  only  question  he  could 
think  of  as  a  beginning  :  '  Have  I  the  pleasure  of 
addressing  the  author  of  a  book  of  very  melodious 
poems  that  was  sent  me  the  other  day  ? ' 

The  girl's  forefinger  twirled  rapidly  the  loop  of 
braid  that  it  had  previously  been  twirling  slowly,  and 
drawing  in  her  breath,  she  said,  '  No,  sir.' 

'  The  sender,  then  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

She  somehow  presented  herself  as  so  insignificant 
by  the  combined  effect  of  the  manner  and  the  words 
that  Christopher  lowered  his  method  of  address  to  her 
level  at  once.  *  Ah,'  he  said,  'such  an  atmosphere  as 
the  writer  of  "  Metres  by  E."  seems  to  breathe  would 
soon  spoil  cheeks  that  are  fresh  and  round  as  lady- 
apples — eh,  little  girl  ?  But  are  you  disposed  to  tell 
me  that  writer's  name  ?  ' 

By  applying  a  general  idea  to  a  particular  case  a 
person  with  the  best  of  intentions  may  find  himself 
immediately  landed  in  a  quandary.  In  saying  to  the 
country  girl  before  him  what  would  have  suited  the 
mass  of  country  lasses  well  enough,  Christopher  had 
offended  her  beyond  the  cure  of  compliment. 

'  I  am  not  disposed  to  tell  the  writer's  name,'  she 
replied,  with  a  dudgeon  that  was  very  great  for  one 
whose  whole  stock  of  it  was  a  trifie.  And  she  passed 
on  and  left  him  standing  alone. 

Thus  further  conversation  was  checked ;  but, 
through  having  rearranged  the  hours  of  his  country 
lessons,  Christopher  met  her  the  next  Wednesday,  and 

25 


THE  HAxND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  next  Friday,  and  throughout  the  following  week 
— no  further  words  passing  between  them.  For  a 
while  she  went  by  very  demurely,  apparently  mindful 
of  his  offence.  But  effrontery  is  not  proved  to  be 
part  of  a  man's  nature  till  he  has  been  guilty  of  a 
second  act :  the  best  of  men  may  commit  a  first 
through  accident  or  ignorance — may  even  be  betrayed 
into  it  by  over- zeal  for  experiment.  Some  such 
conclusion  may  or  may  not  have  been  arrived  at  by 
the  girl  with  the  lady-apple  cheeks  ;  at  any  rate,  after 
the  lapse  of  another  week  a  new  spectacle  presented 
itself;  her  redness  deepened  whenever  Christopher 
passed  her  by,  and  embarrassment  pervaded  her  from 
the  lowest  stitch  to  the  tip  of  her  feather.  She  had 
little  chance  of  escaping  him  by  diverging  from  the 
road,  for  a  figure  could  be  seen  across  the  open 
ground  to  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  on  either  side. 
One  day  as  he  drew  near  as  usual,  she  met  him  as 
women  meet  a  cloud  of  dust — she  turned  and  looked 
backwards  till  he  had  passed. 

This  would  have  been  disconcerting  but  for  one 
reason  :  Christopher  was  ceasing  to  notice  her.  He 
was  a  man  who  often,  when  walking  abroad,  and 
looking  as  it  were  at  the  scene  before  his  eyes,  dis- 
cerned successes  and  failures,  friends  and  relations, 
episodes  of  childhood,  wedding  feasts  and  funerals,  the 
landscape  suffering  greatly  by  these  visions,  until  it 
became  no  more  than  the  patterned  wall-tints  about 
the  paintings  in  a  gallery  ;  something  necessary  to  the 
tone,  yet  not  regarded.  Nothing  but  a  special  con- 
centration of  himself  on  externals  could  interrupt  this 
habit,  and  now  that  her  appearance  along  the  way  had 
changed  from  a  chance  to  a  custom  he  began  to  lapse 
again  into  the  old  trick.  He  gazed  once  or  twice  at 
her  form  wiihout  seeing  it :  he  did  not  notice  that  she 
trembled. 

He  sometimes  read  as  he  walked,  and  book  in 
hand  he  frequently  approached  her  now.  This  went 
on  till  six  weeks  had  passed  from  the  time  of  their 

26 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

first  encounter.  Latterly  might  have  been  once  or 
twice  heard,  when  he  had  moved  out  of  earshot,  a 
sound  like  a  small  gasping  sigh  ;  but  no  arrangements 
were  disturbed,  and  Christopher  continued  to  keep 
down  his  eyes  as  persistently  as  a  saint  in  a  church 
window. 

The  last  day  of  his  engagement  had  arrived,  and 
with  it  the  last  of  his  walks  that  way.  On  his  final 
return  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  flowers  which 
had  been  presented  to  him  at  the  country-house  where 
his  lessons  were  given.  He  was  taking  them  home  to 
his  sister  Faith,  who  prized  the  lingering  blossoms  of 
the  seeding  season.  Soon  appeared  as  usual  his 
fellow-traveller  ;  whereupon  Christopher  looked  down 
upon  his  nosegay.  'Sweet  simple  girl,'  he  thought, 
*  I'll  endeavour  to  make  peace  with  her  by  means  of 
these  flowers  before  we  part  for  good.' 

When  she  came  up  he  held  them  out  to  her  and 
said,  '  Will  you  allow  me  to  present  you  with  these  ? ' 

The  bright  colours  of  the  nosegay  instantly 
attracted  the  girl's  hand — perhaps  before  there  had 
been  time  for  thought  to  thoroughly  construe  the 
position  ;  for  it  happened  that  when  her  arm  was 
stretched  into  the  air  she  steadied  it  quickly,  and 
stood  with  the  pose  of  a  statue — rigid  with  uncertainty. 
But  it  was  too  late  to  refuse  :  Christopher  had  put  the 
nosegay  within  her  fingers.  Whatever  pleasant 
expression  of  thanks  may  have  appeared  in  her  eyes 
fell  only  on  the  bunch  of  flowers,  for  during  the  whole 
transaction  they  reached  to  no  higher  level  than  that. 
To  say  that  he  was  coming  no  more  seemed  scarcely 
necessary  in  the  circumstances,  and  wishing  her 
'  Good-afternoon '  very  heartily,  he  passed  on. 

He  had  learnt  by  this  time  her  occupation,  which 
was  that  of  pupil-teacher  at  one  of  the  schools  in  the 
town,  whither  she  walked  daily  from  a  village  rather  a 
long  way  off  If  he  had  not  been  poor  and  the  little 
teacher  humble,  Christopher  might  possibly  have  been 
tempted  to  inquire  more  briskly  about  her,  and  who 

27 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

knows  how  such  a  pursuit  might  have  ended  ?  But 
hard  externals  rule  volatile  sentiment,  and  under  these 
untoward  influences  the  girl  and  the  book  and  the 
truth  about  its  author  were  matters  upon  which  he 
could  not  afford  to  expend  much  time.  All  Christopher 
did  was  to  think  now  and  then  of  the  pretty  innocent 
face  and  round  deep  eyes,  not  once  wondering  if  the 
mind  which  enlivened  them  ever  thought  of  him. 


SANDBOURNE  MOOR 
{continues) 
III 

It  was  one  of  those  hostile  days  of  the  year  when 
chatterbox  ladies  remain  miserably  in  their  homes  to 
save  the  carriage  and  harness,  when  clerks'  wives  hate 
living  in  lodgings,  when  vehicles  and  people  appear  in 
the  street  with  duplicates  of  themselves  underfoot, 
when  bricklayers,  slaters,  and  other  out-door  journey- 
men sit  in  a  shed  and  drink  beer,  when  ducks  and 
drakes  play  with  hilarious  delight  at  their  own  family 
game,  or  spread  out  one  wing  after  another  in  the 
slower  enjoyment  of  letting  the  delicious  moisture 
penetrate  to  their  innermost  down.  The  smoke  from 
the  flues  of  Sandbourne  had  barely  strength  enough 
to  emerge  into  the  drizzling  rain,  and  hung  down  the 
sides  of  each  chimney-pot  like  the  streamer  of  a 
becalmed  ship  ;  and  a  troop  of  rats  might  have  rattled 
down  the  pipes  from  roof  to  basement  with  less  noise 
than  did  the  water  that  day. 

On  the  broad  moorland  and  meadows  two  or  three 
miles  from  the  town,  where  Christopher's  meetings 
with  the  teacher  had  so  regularly  occurred,  were  a 
stream  and  some  large  pools  ;  and  beside  one  of  these, 
near  some  hatches  and  a  weir,  stood  a  little  square 
building,  not  much  larger  inside  than  the  Lord  Mayor's 
coach.  It  was  known  simply  as  *  The  Weir  House.* 
On  this  wet  afternoon,  which  was  the  one  following 
the  day  of  Christopher's  last  lesson  over  the  plain,  a 
nearly  invisible  smoke  came  from  the  puny  chimney 

29 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

of  the  hut.  Though  the  door  was  closed,  sounds  of 
chatting  and  mirth  fizzed  from  the  interior,  and  would 
have  told  anybody  who  had  come  near — which  nobody 
did — that  the  usually  empty  shell  was  tenanted  to-day. 

The  scene  within  was  a  large  fire  in  a  fireplace  to 
which  the  whole  floor  of  the  house  was  no  more  than 
a  hearthstone.  The  occupants  were  two  gentlemanly 
persons,  in  shooting  costume,  who  had  been  traversing 
the  moor  for  miles  in  search  of  wild  duck  and  teal,  a 
waterman,  and  a  small  spaniel.  In  the  corner  stood 
their  guns,  and  two  or  three  wild  mallards,  which 
represented  the  scanty  product  of  their  morning's 
labour,  the  iridescent  necks  of  the  dead  birds  replying 
to  every  flicker  of  the  fire.  The  two  sportsmen  were 
smoking,  and  their  man  was  mostly  occupying  himself 
in  poking  and  stirring  the  fire  with  a  stick  :  all  three 
appeared  to  be  pretty  well  wetted. 

One  of  the  gentlemen,  by  way  of  varying  the  not 
very  exhilarating  study  of  four  brick  walls  within 
microscopic  distance  of  his  eye,  turned  to  a  small 
square  hole  which  admitted  light  and  air  to  the  hut, 
and  looked  out  upon  the  dreary  prospect  before  him. 
The  wide  concave  of  cloud,  of  the  monotonous  hue  of 
dull  pewter,  formed  an  unbroken  hood  over  the  level 
from  horizon  to  horizon  ;  beneath  it,  reflecting  its  wan 
lustre,  was  the  glazed  high-road  which  stretched, 
hedgeless  and  ditchless,  past  a  directing-post  where 
another  road  joined  it,  and  on  to  the  less  regular 
ground  beyond,  lying  like  a  riband  unrolled  across  the 
scene,  till  it  vanished  over  the  furthermost  undulation. 
Beside  the  pools  w^ere  occasional  tall  sheaves  of  flags 
and  sedge,  and  about  the  plain  a  few  bushes,  these 
forming  the  only  obstructions  to  a  view  otherwise 
unbroken. 

The  sportsman's  attention  was  attracted  by  a  figure 
in  a  state  of  gradual  enlargement  as  it  approached 
along  the  road. 

'  I  should  think  that  if  pleasure  can't  tempt  a  native 
out  of  doors  to-day,  business  will  never  force  him  out,* 

30 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

he  observed.  '  There  is,  for  the  first  time,  somebody 
coming  along  the  road.' 

'  If  business  don't  drag  him  out  pleasure'll  never 
tempt  en,  is  more  Hke  our  nater  in  these  parts,  sir,' 
said  the  man,  who  was  looking  into  the  fire. 

The  conversation  showed  no  vitality,  and  down  it 
dropped  dead  as  before,  the  man  who  was  standing  up 
continuing  to  gaze  into  the  moisture.  What  had  at 
first  appeared  as  an  epicene  shape  the  decreasing 
space  resolved  into  a  cloaked  female  under  an  umbrella: 
she  now  relaxed  her  pace,  till,  reaching  the  directing- 
post  where  the  road  branched  into  two,  she  paused 
and  looked  about  her.  Instead  of  coming  further  she 
slowly  retraced  her  steps  for  about  a  hundred  yards. 

*  That's  an  appointment,'  said  the  first  speaker,  as 
he  removed  the  cigar  from  his  lips  ;  *  and  by  the  lords, 
what  a  day  and  place  for  an  appointment  with  a 
woman  ! ' 

'  What's  an  appointment  ? '  inquired  his  friend,  a 
town  young  man,  with  a  Tussaud  complexion  and  well- 
pencilled  brows  half  way  up  his  forehead,  so  that  his 
upper  eyelids  appeared  to  possess  the  uncommon 
quality  of  tallness. 

'  Look  out  here,  and  you'll  see.  By  that  directing- 
post,  where  the  two  roads  meet.  As  a  man  devoted 
to  art,  Ladywell,  who  has  had  the  honour  of  being 
hung  higher  up  on  the  Academy  walls  than  any  other 
living  painter,  you  should  take  out  your  sketch-book 
and  dash  off  the  scene.' 

Where  nothing  particular  is  going  on,  one  incident 
makes  a  drama  ;  and,  interested  in  that  proportion,  the 
art-sportsman  puts  up  his  eyeglass  (a  form  he  adhered 
to  before  firing  at  game  that  had  risen,  by  which 
merciful  arrangement  the  bird  got  safe  off),  placed  his 
face  beside  his  companion's,  and  also  peered  through 
the  opening.  The  )oung  pupil-teacher — for  she  was 
the  object  of  their  scrutiny — re-approached  the  spot 
whereon  she  had  been  accustomed  for  the  last  many 
weeks  of  her  journey  home  to  meet  Christopher,  now 

31 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

for  the  first  time  missing,  and  again  she  seemed 
reluctant  to  pass  the  hand-post,  for  that  marked  the 
point  where  the  chance  of  seeing  him  ended.  She 
gHded  backwards  as  before,  this  time  keeping  her  face 
still  to  the  front,  as  if  trying  to  persuade  the  world  at 
large,  and  her  own  shamefacedness,  that  she  had  not 
yet  approached  the  place  at  all. 

*  Query,  how  long  will  she  wait  for  him  (for  it  is  a 
man  to  a  certainty)  ?  '  resumed  the  elder  of  the  smokers, 
at  the  end  of  several  minutes  of  silence,  when,  full  of 
vacillation  and  doubt,  she  became  lost  to  view  behind 
some  bushes.  'Will  she  reappear?'  The  smoking 
went  on,  and  up  she  came  into  open  ground  as  before, 
and  walked  by. 

'  I  wonder  who  the  girl  is,  to  come  to  such  a  place 
in  this  weather?  There  she  is  again,'  said  the  young 
man  called  Ladywell. 

'  Some  cottage  lass,  not  yet  old  enough  to  make 
the  most  of  the  value  set  on  her  by  her  follower,  small 
as  that  appears  to  be.  Now  we  may  get  an  idea  of 
the  hour  named  by  the  fellow  for  the  appointment,  for, 
depend  upon  it,  the  time  when  she  first  came — about 
five  minutes  ago — was  the  time  he  should  have  been 
there.  It  is  now  getting  on  towards  fivo. — half-past 
four  was  doubtless  the  time  mentioned.* 

*  She's  not  come  o'  purpose  :  'tis  her  way  home  from 
school  every  day,'  said  the  waterman. 

*  An  experiment  on  woman's  endurance  and 
patience  under  neglect.  Two  to  one  against  her  stay- 
ing a  quarter  of  an  hour.' 

*  The  same  odds  against  her  not  staying  till  five 
would  be  nearer  probability.  What's  half-an-hour  to 
a  girl  in  love  ? ' 

'  On  a  moorland  in  wet  weather  it  is  thirty  per- 
ceptible minutes  to  any  fireside  man,  woman,  or  beast 
in  Christendom — minutes  that  can  be  felt,  like  the 
Egyptian  plague  of  darkness.  Now,  litde  girl,  go 
home  :  he  is  not  worth  it.' 

Twenty    minutes    passed,    and    the    girl    returned 

32 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

miserably  to  the  hand-post,  still  to  wander  back  to  her 
retreat  behind  the  sedge,  and  lead  any  chance  comer 
from  the  opposite  quarter  to  believe  that  she  had  not 
yet  reached  this  ultimate  point  beyond  which  a  meeting 
with  Christopher  was  impossible. 

'  Now  you'll  find  that  she  means  to  wait  the  com- 
plete half-hour,  and  then  off  she  goes  with  a  broken 
heart.' 

All  three  now  looked  through  the  hole  to  test  the 
truth  of  the  prognostication.  The  hour  of  five  com- 
pleted itself  on  their  watches  ;  the  girl  again  came 
forward.  And  then  the  three  in  ambuscade  could  see 
her  pull  out  her  handkerchief  and  place  it  to  her  eyes. 

*  She's  grieving  now  because  he  has  not  come. 
Poor  little  woman,  what  a  brute  he  must  be  ;  for  a 
broken  heart  in  a  woman  means  a  broken  vow  in  a 
man,  as  I  infer  from  a  thousand  instances  in  experience, 
romance,  and  history.  Don't  open  the  door  till  she  is 
gone,  Lady  well  ;  it  will  only  disturb  her.' 

As  they  had  guessed,  the  pupil-teacher,  hearing  the 
distant  town-clock  strike  the  hour,  gave  way  to  her 
fancy  no  longer,  and  launched  into  the  diverging  path. 
This  lingering  for  Christopher's  arrival  had,  as  is 
known,  been  founded  on  nothing  more  of  the  nature 
of  an  assignation  than  lay  in  his  regular  walk  along 
the  plain  at  that  time  every  Monday,  Wednesday,  and 
Friday  of  the  six  previous  weeks.  It  must  be  said 
that  he  was  very  far  indeed  from  divining  that  his 
injudicious  peace-offering  of  the  flowers  had  stirred 
into  life  such  a  wearing,  anxious,  hopeful,  despairing 
solicitude  as  this,  which  had  been  latent  for  some  time 
during  his  constant  meetings  with  the  little  stranger. 

She  vanished  in  the  mist  towards  the  left,  and  the 
loiterers  in  the  hut  began  to  move  and  open  the  door, 
remarking,  '  Now  then  for  Wyndway  House,  a  change 
of  clothes,  and  a  dinner.' 


SAND  BOURNE  PIER 

ROAD  TO    WYNDIVAY 
BALL-ROOM  IN  WYNDWA  Y  HOUSE 

IV 

The  last  light  of  a  winter  day  had  gone  down  behind 
the  houses  of  Sandbourne,  and  night  was  shut  close 
over  all.  Christopher,  about  eight  o'clock,  was  standing 
at  the  end  of  the  pier  with  his  back  towards  the  open 
sea,  whence  the  waves  were  pushing  to  the  shore  in 
frills  and  flounces  that  were  just  rendered  visible  in  all 
their  bleak  instability  by  the  row  of  lights  along  the 
sides  of  the  jetty,  the  rapid  motion  landward  of  the 
wavetips  producing  upon  his  eye  an  apparent  progress 
of  the  pier  out  to  sea.  This  pier-head  was  a  spot 
which  Christopher  enjoyed  visiting  on  such  moaning 
and  sighing  nights  as  the  present,  when  the  sportive 
and  variegated  throng  that  haunted  the  pier  on  autumn 
days  was  no  longer  there,  and  he  seemed  alone  with 
weather  and  the  invincible  sea. 

Somebody  came  towards  him  along  the  deserted 
footway,  and  rays  from  the  nearest  lamp  streaked  the 
face  of  his  sister  Faith. 

'O  Christopher,  I  knew  you  were  here,'  she  said 
eagerly.  '  You  are  wanted  ;  there's  a  servant  come 
from  Wyndway  House  for  you.  He  is  sent  to  ask  ii 
you  can  come  immediately  to  play  at  a  little  dance  they 
have  resolved  upon  this  evening — quite  suddenly  it 
seems.      If  you  can  come,  you  must  bring  with  you  any 

34 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

assistant  you  can  lay  your  hands  upon  at  a  moment's 
notice,  he  says.' 

*  Wyndway  House  ;  why  should  the  people  send  for 
me  above  all  other  musicians  in  the  town  ?  ' 

Faith  did  not  know.  *  If  you  really  decide  to  go,' 
she  said,  as  they  walked  homeward,  'you  might  take 
me  as  your  assistant.  I  should  answer  the  purpose, 
should  I  not,  Kit.'^  since  it  is  only  a  dance  or  two  they 
seem  to  want.' 

'  And  your  harp  I  suppose  you  mean  ?  Yes  ;  you 
might  be  competent  to  take  a  part.  It  cannot  be  a 
regular  ball  ;  they  would  have  had  the  quadrille  band 
for  anything  of  that  sort.  Faith — we'll  go.  However, 
let  us  see  the  man  first,  and  inquire  particulars.' 

Reaching  home,  Christopher  found  at  his  door  a 
horse  and  wagonette  in  charge  of  a  man-servant  in 
livery,  who  repeated  what  Faith  had  told  her  brother. 
Wyndway  House  was  a  well-known  country-seat  three 
or  four  miles  out  of  the  town,  and  the  coachman  men- 
tioned that  if  they  were  going  it  would  be  well  that 
they  should  get  ready  to  start  as  soon  as  they  con- 
veniently could,  since  he  had  been  told  to  return  by 
ten  if  possible.  Christopher  quickly  prepared  himself, 
and  put  a  new  string  or  two  into  Faith's  harp,  by 
which  time  she  also  was  dressed  ;  and,  wrapping  up 
herself  and  her  instrument  safe  from  the  night  air, 
away  they  drove  at  half-past  nine. 

'Is  it  a  large  party  .'^ '  said  Christopher,  as  they 
whizzed  along. 

*No,  sir;  it  is  what  we  call  a  dance — that  is,  'tis 
like  a  ball,  you  know,  on  a  small  scale — a  ball  on  a 
spurt,  that  you  never  thought  of  till  you  had  it.  In 
short,  it  grew  out  of  a  talk  at  dinner,  I  believe  ;  and 
some  of  the  young  people  present  wanted  a  jig,  and 
didn't  care  to  play  themselves,  you  know,  young  ladies 
being  an  idle  class  of  society  at  the  best  of  times. 
We've  a  house  full  of  sleeping  company,  you  under- 
stand— been  there  a  week  some  of  'em — most  of  'em 
being,  mistress's  relations.' 

35 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  They  probably  found  it  a  little  dull' 

'Well,  yes — it  is  rather  dull  for  em — Christmas- 
time and  all.  As  soon  as  it  was  proposed  they  were 
wild  for  sending  post-haste  for  somebody  or  other  to 
play  to  them.' 

*  Did  they  name  me  particularly  ?  *  said  Christopher. 
'Yes;  "  Mr.  Christopher  Julian,"  she  says.      "  The 

gent  who's  turned  music-man  ?  "  1  said.     "  Yes,  that's 
him,"  says  she.' 

'There  were  music-men  living  nearer  to  your  end 
of  the  town  than  I.' 

*  Yes,  but  I  know  it  was  you  particular  :  though  I 
don't  think  mistress  thought  anything  about  you  at 
first.  Mr.  Joyce — that's  the  butler — said  that  your 
name  was  mentioned  to  our  old  dame,  when  he  was  in 
the  room,  by  a  young  lady  staying  with  us,  and  mistress 
says  then,  "The  Julians  have  had  a  downfall,  and  the 
son  has  taken  to  music."  Then  when  dancing  was 
talked  of,  they  said,  '  O,  let's  have  him  by  all  means."  ' 

'Was  the  young  lady  who  first  inquired  for  my 
family  the  same  one  who  said,  "  Let's  have  him  by  all 
means  r 

'  O  no  ;  but  it  was  on  account  of  her  asking  that 
the  rest  said  they  would  like  you  to  play — at  least 
that's  as  I  had  it  from  Joyce.' 

*  Do  you  know  that  lady's  name  ?  * 

*  Mrs.  Petherwin.' 
*Ah!' 

'Cold,  sir?' 

'Ono.' 

Christopher  did  not  like  to  question  the  man  any 
further,  though  what  he  had  heard  added  new  life  to 
his  previous  curiosity  ;  and  they  drove  along  the  way 
in  silence.  Faith's  figure,  wrapped  up  to  the  top  of  her 
head,  cutting  into  the  sky  behind  them  like  a  sugar- 
loaf  Such  gates  as  crossed  the  roads  had  been  left 
open  by  the  forethought  of  the  coachman,  and,  passing 
the  lodge,  they  proceeded  about  half-a-mile  along  a 
private  drive,  then  ascended  a  rise,  and  came  in  view 

36 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

of  the  front  of  the  mansion,  punctured  with  windows 
that  were  now  mostly  lighted  up. 

'What  is  that?'  said  Faith,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
something  that  the  carriage-lamp  showed  on  the  face  of 
one  wall  as  they  passed,  a  marble  bas-relief  of  some 
battle-piece,  built  into  the  stonework. 

*  That's  the  scene  of  the  death  of  one  of  the  squire's 
forefathers — Colonel  Sir  Martin  Jones,  who  was  killed 
at  the  moment  of  victory  in  the  battle  of  Salamanca — 
but  I  haven't  been  here  long  enough  to  know  the  rights 
of  it.  When  I  am  in  one  of  my  meditations,  as  I  wait 
here  with  the  carriage  sometimes,  I  think  how  many 
more  get  killed  at  the  moment  of  victory  than  at  the 
moment  of  defeat.  This  is  the  entrance  for  you,  sir.' 
And  he  turned  the  corner  and  pulled  up  before  a  side 
door. 

They  alighted  and  went  in,  Christopher  shoulder- 
ing Faith's  harp,  and  she  marching  modestly  behind, 
with  curly-eared  music-books  under  her  arm.  They 
were  shown  into  the  house-steward's  room,  and  ushered 
thence  along  a  badly-lit  passage  and  past  a  door  within 
which  a  hum  and  laughter  were  audible.  The  door 
next  to  this  was  then  opened  for  them,  and  they 
entered. 

Scarcely  had  Faith,  or  Christopher  either,  ever 
beheld  a  more  shining  scents  than  was  presented  by 
the  saloon  in  which  they  now  found  themselves. 
Coming  direct  from  the  gloomy  park,  and  led  to  the 
room  by  that  back  passage  from  the  servants'  quarter, 
the  light  from  the  chandelier  and  branches  against  the 
walls,  striking  on  gilding  at  all  points,  quite  dazzled 
their  sight  for  a  minute  or  two  ;  it  caused  Faith  to 
move  forward  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  and  filled 
Christopher  with  an  impulse  to  turn  back  again  into 
some  dusky  corner  where  every  thread  of  his  not 
over-new  dress  suit — rather  moth-eaten  through  lack 
of  feasts  for  airing  it — could  be  counted  less  easily. 

He  was  soon  seated  before  a  grand    piano,   and 

37 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Faith  sat  down  under  the  shadow  of  her  harp,  both 
being  arranged  on  a  dais  within  an  alcove  at  one  end 
of  the  room.  A  screen  of  ivy  and  holly  had  been 
constructed  across  the  front  of  this  recess  for  the 
games  of  the  children  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  it  still 
remained  there,  a  small  creep  -  hole  being  left  for 
entrance  and  exit. 

Then  the  merry  guests  tumbled  through  doors  at 
the  further  end,  and  dancing  began.  The  mingling  of 
black-coated  men  and  bright  ladies  gave  a  charming 
appearance  to  the  groups  as  seen  by  Faith  and  her 
brother,  the  whole  spectacle  deriving  an  unexpected 
novelty  from  the  accident  of  reaching  their  eyes 
through  interstices  in  the  tracery  of  green  leaves, 
which  added  to  the  picture  a  softness  that  it  would  not 
otherwise  have  possessed.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
musicians,  having  a  much  weaker  light,  could  hardly 
be  discerned  by  the  performers  in  the  dance. 

The  music  was  now  rattling  on,  and  the  ladies  in 
their  foam-like  dresses  were  busily  threading  and 
spinning  about  the  floor,  when  Faith,  casually  looking 
up  into  her  brother's  face,  was  surprised  to  see  that  a 
change  had  come  over  it.  At  the  end  of  the  quadrille 
he  leant  across  to  her  before  she  had  time  to  speak, 
and  said  quietly,  '  She's  here  ! ' 

'Who.?'  said  Faith,  for  she  had  not  heard  the 
words  of  the  coachman. 

*  Ethelberta.' 

*  Which  is  she  ? '  asked  Faith,  peeping  through 
with  the  keenest  interest. 

'  The  one  who  has  the  skirts  of  her  dress  looped 
up  with  convolvulus  flowers — the  one  with  her  hair 
fastened  in  a  sort  of  Venus  knot  behind  ;  she  has  just 
been  dancing  with  that  perfumed  piece  of  a  man  they 
call  Mr.  Ladywell — it  is  he  with  the  high  eyebrows 
arched  like  a  girl's.'  He  added,  with  a  wrinkled  smile, 
*  I  cannot  for  my  life  see  anybody  answering  to  the 
character  of  husband  to  her,  for  every  man  takes 
notice  of  her.' 

38 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

They  were  interrupted  by  another  dance  being 
called  for,  and  then,  his  fingers  tapping  about  upon 
the  keys  as  mechanically  as  fowls  pecking  at  barley- 
corns, Christopher  gave  himself  up  with  a  curious  and 
far  from  unalloyed  pleasure  to  the  occupation  of  watch- 
ing Ethelberta,  now  again  crossing  the  field  of  his 
vision  like  a  returned  comet  whose  characteristics  were 
becoming  purely  historical.  She  was  a  plump-armed 
creature,  with  a  white  round  neck  as  firm  as  a  fort — 
altogether  a  vigorous  shape,  as  refreshing  to  the  eye 
as  the  green  leaves  through  which  he  beheld  her.  She 
danced  freely,  and  with  a  zest  that  was  apparently 
irrespective  of  partners.  He  had  been  waiting  long 
to  hear  her  speak,  and  when  at  length  her  voice  did 
reach  his  ears,  it  was  the  revelation  of  a  strange  matter 
to  find  how  great  a  thing  that  small  event  had  become 
to  him.  He  knew  the  old  utterance — rapid  but  not 
frequent,  an  obstructive  thought  causing  sometimes  a 
sudden  halt  in  the  midst  of  a  stream  of  words.  But 
the  feature  by  which  a  cool  observer  would  have 
singled  her  out  from  others  in  his  memory  when  asking 
himself  what  she  was  like,  was  a  peculiar  gaze  into 
imaginary  far-away  distance  when  making  a  quiet 
remark  to  a  partner — not  with  contracted  eyes  like  a 
sea-faring  man,  but  with  an  open  full  look — a  remark 
in  which  little  words  in  a  low  tone  were  made  to 
express  a  great  deal,  as  several  single  gentlemen 
afterwards  found. 

The  production  of  dance-music  when  the  criticizing 
stage  among  the  dancers  has  passed,  and  they  have 
grown  full  of  excitement  and  animal  spirits,  does  not 
require  much  concentration  of  thought  in  the  producers 
thereof;  and  desultory  conversation  accordingly  went 
on  between  Faith  and  her  brother  from  time  to  time. 

'Kit,'  she  said  on  one  occasion,  'are  you  looking 
at  the  way  in  which  the  flowers  are  fastened  to  the 
leaves  ? — taking  a  mean  advantage  of  being  at  the 
back  of  the  tapestry  ?  You  cannot  think  how  you 
stare  at  them.' 

39 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  I  was  looking  through  them — certainly  not  at 
them.  I  have  a  feeling  of  being  moved  about  like  a 
puppet  in  the  hands  of  a  person  who  legally  can  be 
nothing  to  me.' 

*  That  charming  woman  with  the  shining  bunch  of 
hair  and  convolvuluses  ? ' 

'  Yes  :  it  is  through  her  that  we  are  brought  here, 
and  through  her  writing  that  poem,  '•  Cancelled  Words," 
that  the  book  was  sent  me,  and  through  the  accidental 
renewal  of  acquaintance  between  us  on  Anglebury 
Heath,  that  she  wrote  the  poem.  I  was,  however,  at 
the  moment  you  spoke,  thinking  more  particularly  of 
the  little  teacher  whom  Ethelberta  must  have  com- 
missioned to  send  the  book  to  me  ;  and  why  that  girl 
was  chosen  to  do  it.' 

'There  may  be  a  hundred  reasons.  Kit,  I  have 
never  yet  seen  her  look  once  this  way.' 

Christopher  had  certainly  not  yet  received  look  or 
gesture  from  her;  but  his  time  came.  It  was  while 
he  was  for  a  moment  outside  the  recess,  and  he  caught 
her  in  the  act.  She  became  slightly  confused,  turned 
aside,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  a  neighbour. 

It  was  only  a  look,  and  yet  what  a  look  it  was ! 
One  may  say  of  a  look  that  it  is  capable  of  division 
into  as  many  species,  genera,  orders,  and  classes,  as 
the  animal  world  itself.  Christopher  saw  Ethelberta 
Petherwin's  performance  in  this  kind — the  well-known 
spark  of  light  upon  the  well-known  depths  of  mystery 
— and  felt  something  going  out  of  him  which  had  gone 
out  of  him  once  before. 

Thus  continually  beholding  her  and  her  com- 
panions in  the  giddy  whirl,  the  night  wore  on  with 
the  musicians,  last  dances  and  more  last  dances  being 
added,  till  the  intentions  of  the  old  on  the  matter  were 
thrice  exceeded  in  the  interests  of  the  young.  Watch- 
ing the  couples  whirl  and  turn,  advance  and  recede  as 
gently  as  spirits,  knot  themselves  like  house-flies  and 
part  again,  and  lullabied  by  the  faint  regular  beat  of 
their  footsteps  to  the  tune,  the  players  sank  into  the 

40 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

peculiar  mesmeric  quiet  which  comes  over  impression- 
able people  who  play  for  a  great  length  of  time  in  the 
midst  of  such  scenes  ;  and  at  last  the  only  noises  that 
Christopher  took  cognizance  of  were  those  of  the  ex- 
ceptional kind,  breaking  above  the  general  sea  of 
sound — a  casual  smart  rustle  of  silk,  a  laugh,  a  stumble, 
the  monosyllabic  talk  of  those  who  happened  to  linger 
for  a  moment  close  to  the  leafy  screen — all  coming  to 
his  ears  like  voices  from  those  old  times  when  he  had 
mingled  in  similar  scenes,  not  as  servant  but  as  guest. 


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41 


A  CDMEDY  m  CHAFTEES 


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45 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

While  thus  Hngerlng 

In  shadowy  thoroughfares  of  thought, 

Faith  interrupted  with,  *  I  believe  there  is  one  of  the 
dancers  now  ! — why,  I  should  have  thought  they  had 
all  gone  to  bed,  and  wouldn't  get  up  again  for  days.' 
She  indicated  to  him  a  figure  on  the  lawn  towards  the 
left,  looking  upon  the  same  flashing  scene  as  that  they 
themselves  beheld. 

'  It  is  your  own  particular  one/  continued  Faith. 
'  Yes,  I  see  the  blue  flowers  under  the  edge  of  her 
cloak.* 

'And  I  see  her  squirrel-coloured  hair,*  said  Chris- 
topher. 

Both  stood  looking  at  this  apparition,  who  once, 
and  only  once,  thought  fit  to  turn  her  head  towards 
the  front  of  the  house  they  were  gazing  from.  Faith 
was  one  in  whom  the  meditative  somewhat  over- 
powered the  active  faculties  ;  she  went  on,  with  no 
abundance  of  love,  to  theorize  upon  this  gratuitously 
charming  woman,  who,  striking  freakishly  into  her 
brother's  path,  seemed  likely  to  do  him  no  good  in  her 
sisterly  estimation.  Ethelberta's  bright  and  shapely 
form  stood  before  her  critic  now,  smartened  by  the 
motes  of  sunlight  from  head  to  heel  :  what  Faith 
would  have  given  to  see  her  so  clearly  within  ! 

'  Without  doubt  she  is  already  a  lady  of  many 
romantic  experiences,'  she  said  dubiously. 

'And  on  the  way  to  many  more,'  said  Christopher. 
The  tone  was  just  of  the  kind  which  may  be  imagined 
of  a  sombre  man  who  had  been  up  all  night  piping 
that  others  mic/ht  dance. 

Faith  parted  her  lips  as  if  m  consternation  at 
possibilities.  Ethelberta,  having  already  become  an 
influence  in  Christopher's  system,  might  soon  become 
more  —  an  indestructible  fascination  —  to  drag  him 
about,  turn  his  soul  inside  out,  harrow  him,  twist  him, 
and  otherwise  torment  him,  according  to  the  stereo- 
typed form  of  such  processes. 

44 


A  COMEDY   IN  CHAPTERS 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  a  door. 
A  servant  entered  and  came  up  to  them. 

'  This  is  for  you,  I  beHeve,  sir/  he  said.  '  Two 
guineas  ; '  and  he  placed  the  money  in  Christopher's 
hand.  '  Some  breakfast  will  be  ready  for  you  in  a 
moment  if  you  like  to  have  it.  Would  you  wish  it 
brought  in  here  ;  or  will  you  come  to  the  steward's 
room  ?  * 

'  Yes,  we  will  come.'  And  the  man  then  began  to 
extinguish  the  lights  one  by  one.  Christopher  dropped 
the  two  pounds  and  two  shillings  singly  into  his 
pocket,  and  looking  listlessly  at  the  footman  said, 
'  Can  you  tell  me  the  address  of  that  lady  on  the  lawn  ? 
Ah,  she  has  disappeared  ! ' 

*  She  wore  a  dress  with  blue  flowers,'  said  Faith. 

'  And  remarkable  bright  in  her  manner  ?  O,  that's 
the  young  widow,  Mrs. — what's  that  name — I  forget 
for  the  moment.' 

'  Widow  ?  '  said  Christopher,  the  eyes  of  his  under- 
standing getting  wonderfully  clear,  and  Faith  uttering 
a  private  ejaculation  of  thanks  that  after  all  no  com- 
mandments were  likely  to  be  broken  in  this  matter. 
'  The  lady  I  mean  is  quite  a  girlish  sort  of  woman.' 

*Yes,  yes,  so  she  is — that's  the  one.  Coachman 
says  she  must  have  been  born  a  widow,  for  there  is 
not  time  for  her  ever  to  have  been  made  one.  How- 
ever, she's  not  quite  such  a  chicken  as  all  that.  Mrs. 
Petherwin,  that's  the  party's  name.' 

*  Does  she  live  here  ? ' 

'  No,  she  is  staying  in  the  house  visiting  for  a  few 
days  with  her  mother-in-law.  They  are  a  London 
family  :   I  don't  know  her  address.' 

'  Is  she  a  poetess  ? ' 

*  That  I  cannot  say.  She  is  very  clever  at  verses  ; 
but  she  don't  lean  over  gates  to  see  the  sun,  and  goes 
to  church  as  regular  as  you  or  I,  so  I  should  hardly  be 
inclined  to  say  that  she's  the  complete  thing.  When 
she's  up  in  one  of  her  vagaries  she'll  sit  with  the  ladies 
and  make  up  pretty  things  out  of  her  head  as  fast  as 

45 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

sticks  a-breaking-.  They  will  run  off  her  tongue  like 
cotton  from  a  reel,  and  if  she  can  ever  be  got  in  the 
mind  of  telling  a  story  she  will  bring  it  out  that  serious 
and  awful  that  it  makes  your  flesh  creep  upon  your 
bones  ;  if  she's  only  got  to  say  that  she  walked  out  of 
one  door  into  another,  she'll  teil  it  so  that  there  seems 
something  wonderful  in  it.  'Tis  a  bother  to  start  her, 
so  our  people  say  behind  her  back,  but,  once  set  going, 
the  house  is  all  alive  with  her.  However,  it  will  soon 
be  dull  enough  ;  she  and  Lady  Petherwin  are  off  to- 
morrow for  Rookington,  where  I  believe  they  are 
going  to  stay  over  New  Year's  Day.' 

'  Where  do  you  say  they  are  going  ? '  inquired 
Christopher,  as  they  followed  the  footman. 

'  Rookington  Park — about  three  miles  out  of  Sand- 
bourne,  in  the  opposite  direction  to  this.* 

*  A  widow,'  Christopher  murmured. 

Faith  overheard  him.  'That  makes  no  difference 
to  us,  does  it  ? '  she  said  wistfully. 

Forty  minutes  later  they  were  driving  along  an 
open  road  over  a  ridge  which  commanded  a  view  of  a 
small  inlet  below  them,  the  sands  of  this  nook  being 
sheltered  by  slopes.  Here  at  once  they  saw,  in  the 
full  light  of  the  sun,  two  women  standing  side  by  side, 
their  faces  directed  over  the  sea. 

*  There  she  is  again ! '  said  Faith.  *  She  has 
walked  along  the  shore  from  the  lawn  where  we  saw 
her  before.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  coachman,  *  she's  a  curious  woman 
seemingly.  She'll  talk  to  any  poor  body  she  meets. 
You  see  she  had  been  out  for  a  morning  walk  instead 
of  going  to  bed,  and  that  is  some  queer  mortal  or 
other  she  has  picked  up  with  on  her  way.' 

*  I  wonder  she  does  not  prefer  some  rest,'  Faith 
observed. 

The  road  then  dropped  into  a  hollow,  and  the 
women  by  the  sea  were  no  longer  within  view  from 
the  carriage,  which  rapidly  neared  Sandbourne  with 
the  two  musicians. 

46 


THE  SHORE 

BY  WYNDWAY 

VI 

The  east  gleamed  upon  Ethelberta's  squirrel-coloured 
hair  as  she  said  to  her  companion,  '  I  have  come, 
Picotee  ;  but  not,  as  you  imagine,  from  a  night's  sleep. 
We  have  actually  been  dancing  till  daylight  at 
Wyndway.' 

*  Then  you  should  not  have  troubled  to  come !  I 
could  have  borne  the  disappointment  under  such  cir- 
cumstances,' said  the  pupil-teacher,  who,  wearinor  a 
dress  not  so  familiar  to  Christopher's  eyes  as  had  been 
the  little  white  jacket,  had  not  been  recognized  by 
him  from  the  hill.  '  You  look  so  tired,  Berta.  I 
could  not  stay  up  all  night  for  the  world  ! ' 

'One  gets  used  to  these  things,'  said  Ethelberta 
quietly.  '  I  should  have  been  in  bed  certainlv,  had  I 
not  particularly  wished  to  use  this  opportunity  of 
meeting  you  before  you  go  home  to-morrow.  I  could 
not  have  come  to  Sandbourne  to-day,  because  we  are 
leaving  to  return  again  to  Rookington.  This  is  all 
that  1  wish  you  to  take  to  mother — only  a  few  little 
things  which  may  be  useful  to  her;  but  you  will  see 
what  it  contains  w^hen  you  open  it.'  She  handed  to 
Picotee  a  small  parcel.  *  This  is  for  yourself,'  she 
went  on,  giving  a  small  packet  besides.  '  It  will  pay 
your  fare  home  and  back,  and  leave  you  something  to 
spare.' 

47 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'Thank  you,'  said  Picotee  docilely. 

*  Now,  Picotee,'  continued  the  elder,  '  let  us  talk  for 
a  few  minutes  before  I  go  back  :  we  may  not  meet 
again  for  some  time.'  She  put  her  arm  round  the 
waist  of  Picotee,  who  did  the  same  by  Ethelberta ; 
and  thus  interlaced  they  walked  backwards  and 
forwards  upon  the  firm  flat  sand  with  the  motion  of 
one  body  animated  by  one  will. 

'  Well,  what  did  you  think  of  my  poems  ?  * 

*  I  liked  them  ;  but  naturally,  I  did  not  understand 
all  the  experience  you  describe.  It  is  so  different 
from  mine.  Yet  that  made  them  more  interesting  to 
me.  I  thought  I  should  so  much  like  to  mix  in  the 
same  scenes  ;  but  that  of  course  is  impossible.' 

*  I  am  afraid  it  is.  And  you  posted  the  book  as  I 
said  ? ' 

'  Yes.'  She  added  hurriedly,  as  if  to  change  the 
subject,  '  I  have  told  nobody  that  we  are  sisters,  or 
that  you  are  known  in  any  way  to  me  or  to  mother  or 
to  any  of  us.  I  thought  that  would  be  best,  from 
what  you  said.' 

*  Yes,  perhaps  it  is  best  for  the  present.' 

*  The  box  of  clothes  came  safely,  and  I  find  very 
little  alteration  will  be  necessary  to  make  the  dress  do 
beautifully  for  me  on  Sundays.  It  is  quite  new- 
fashioned  to  me,  though  I  suppose  it  was  old-fashioned 
to  you.  O,  and  Berta,  will  the  title  of  Lady  Petherwin 
descend  to  you  when  your  mother-in-law  dies  ? ' 

'  No,  of  course  not.  She  is  only  a  knight's  widow, 
and  that's  nothing.' 

*  The  lady  of  a  knight  looks  as  good  on  paper  as 
the  lady  of  a  lord.' 

•Yes.  And  in  other  places  too  sometimes.  How- 
ever, about  your  journey  home.  Be  very  careful  ;  and 
don't  make  any  inquiries  at  the  stations  of  anybody 
but  officials.  If  any  man  wants  to  be  friendly  with 
you,  try  to  find  out  if  it  is  from  a  genuine  wish  to 
assist  you,  or  from  admiration  of  your  fresh  face.' 

*  How  shall  I  know  which  ?*  said  Picotee. 

48 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  laughed.  *  If  Heaven  does  not  tell 
you  at  the  moment  1  cannot,'  she  said.  *  But  humanity 
looks  with  a  different  eye  from  love,  and  upon  the 
whole  it  is  most  to  be  prized  by  all  of  us.  I  believe 
it  ends  oftener  in  marriage  than  do  a  lover's  flying 
smiles.  So  that  for  this  and  other  reasons  love  from 
a  stranger  is  mostly  worthless  as  a  speculation  ;  and  it 
is  certainly  dangerous  as  a  game.  Well,  Picotee,  has 
any  one  paid  you  real  attentions  yet  ? ' 

'  No — that  is ' 

*  There  is  something  going  on.* 
'  Only  a  wee  bit.' 

*  I  thought  so.  There  was  a  dishonesty  about  your 
dear  eyes  which  has  never  been  there  before,  and 
love-making  and  dishonesty  are  inseparable  as  coupled 
hounds.  Up  comes  man,  and  away  goes  innocence. 
Are  you  going  to  tell  me  anything  about  him  ? ' 

*  I  would  rather  not,  Ethelberta ;  because  it  is 
hardly  anything.' 

'  Well,  be  careful.  And  mind  this,  never  tell  him 
what  you  feel.' 

'  But  then  he  will  never  know  it.' 

*  Nor  must  he.  He  must  think  it  only.  The 
difference  between  his  thinking  and  knowing  is  often 
the  difference  between  your  winning  and  losing. 
But  general  advice  is  not  of  much  use,  and  I 
cannot  give  more  unless  you  tell  more.  What  is 
his  name  ? ' 

Picotee  did  not  reply. 

*  Never  mind  :  keep  your  secret  However,  listen 
to  this  :  not  a  kiss — not  so  much  as  the  shadow,  hint, 
or  merest  seedling  of  a  kiss  ! ' 

'  There  is  no  fear  of  it,'  murmured  Picotee  ;  '  though 
not  because  of  me  ! ' 

'You  see,  my  dear  Picotee,  a  lover  is  not  a 
relative  ;  and  he  isn't  quite  a  stranger ;  but  he  may 
end  in  being  either,  and  the  way  to  reduce  him  to 
whichever  of  the  two  you  wish  him  to  be  is  to  treat 
him  like  the  other.     Men  who  come  courting  are  just 

49 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

like  bad  cooks  :  if  you  are  kind  to  them,  instead  of 
ascribing  it  to  an  exceptional  courtesy  on  your  part, 
they  instantly  set  it  down  to  their  own  marvellous 
worth.' 

'  But  I  ought  to  favour  him  just  a  little,  poor  thing  ? 
Just  the  smallest  glimmer  of  a  gleam  ! ' 

'  Only  a  very  little  indeed — so  that  it  comes  as  a 
relief  to  his  misery,  not  as  adding  to  his  happiness.' 

*  It  is  being  too  clever,  all  this;  and  we  ought  to 
be  harmless  as  doves.' 

*  Ah,  Picotee !  to  continue  harmless  as  a  dove  you 
must  be  wise  as  a  serpent,  you'll  find — ay,  ten  serpents, 
for  that  matter.' 

*  But  if  I  cannot  get  at  him,  how  can  I  manage 
him  in  these  ways  you  speak  of  ?  ' 

*  Get  at  him  ?  I  suppose  he  gets  at  you  in  some 
way,  does  he  not  ? — tries  to  see  you,  or  to  be  near 
you  ? ' 

'  No — that's  just  the  point — he  doesn't  do  any 
such  thing,  and  there's  the  worry  of  it ! ' 

'  Well,  what  a  silly  girl !  Then  he  is  not  your 
lover  at  all  ?  ' 

*  Perhaps  he's  not.  But  I  am  his,  at  any  rate — 
twice  over.' 

*  That's  no  use.  Supply  the  love  for  both  sides  ? 
Why,  it's  worse  than  furnishing  money  for  both. 
You  don't  suppose  a  man  will  give  his  heart  in 
exchange  for  a  woman's  when  he  has  already  got  hers 
for  nothing  ?  That's  not  the  way  old  Adam  does 
business  at  all.' 

Picotee  sighed.  *  Have  you  got  a  young  man,  too, 
Berta  ? ' 

'  A  young  man  ?' 

'  A  lover  I  mean — that's  what  we  call  'em  down 
here.' 

'  It  is  difficult  to  explain,'  said  Ethelberta  evasively. 
*  I  knew  one  many  years  ago,  and  I  have  seen  him 
again,  and — that  is  all.' 

'  According  to  my  idea  you  have  one,  but  according 

50 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

to  your  own  you  have  not ;  he  does  not  love  you,  but 
you  love  him — is  that  how  it  is  ?  ' 

'  I  have  not  quite  considered  how  it  is/ 

'  Do  you  love  him  ?  ' 

*  I  have  never  seen  a  man  I  hate  less.* 

'  A  great  deal  lies  covered  up  there,  I  expect !  * 
'  He  was  in  that  carriage  which  drove  over  the  hill 

at  the  moment  we  met  here.' 

'  Ah-ah — some  great  lord  or  another  who  has  his 

day    by   candlelight,  and    so   on.      I    guess   the   style. 

Somebody  who  no  more  knows  how  much  bread  is  a 

loaf  than  I  do  the  price  of  diamonds  and  pearls.' 

*  I  am  afraid  he's  only  a  commoner  as  yet,  and  not 
a  very  great  one  either.  But  surely  you  guess,  Picotee.'^ 
But  I'll  set  you  an  example  of  frankness  by  telling  his 
name.  My  friend,  Mr.  Julian,  to  whom  you  posted 
the  book.  Such  chano^es  as  he  has  seen ! — from 
affluence  to  poverty.  He  and  his  sister  have  been 
playing  dances  all  night  at  Wyndway — What  is  the 
matter  ?  ' 

*  Only  a  pain  !  * 

*  My  dear  Picotee * 

*  I  think  I'll  sit  down  for  a  moment,  Berta.' 

*  What — have  you  over- walked  yourself,  dear  ?  * 

*  Yes — and  I  got  up  very  early,  you  see.' 

*  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be  ill,  child.  You 
look  as  if  you  ought  not  to  be  here.' 

'  O,  it  is  quite  trifling.      Does  not  getting  up  in  a 
hurry  cause  a  sense  of  faintness  sometimes  ? ' 
'Yes,  in  people  who  are  not  strong.' 

*  If  we  don't  talk  about  being  faint  it  will  go  off. 
Faintness  is  such  a  queer  thing  that  to  think  of  it  is  to 
have  it.  Let  us  talk  as  we  were  talking  before — about 
your  young  man  and  other  indifferent  matters,  so  as  to 
divert  my  thoughts  from  fainting,  dear  Berta.  I  have 
always  thought  the  book  was  to  be  forwarded  to  that 
gentleman  because  he  was  a  connection  of  yours  by 
marriage,  and  he  had  asked  for  it.  And  so  you  have 
met  this — this   Mr.   Julian,  and  gone  for  walks  with 

SI 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

him   in  evenings,  I   suppose,  just  as  young  men  and 
women  do  who  are  courting?' 

'  No,  indeed — what  an  absurd  child  you  are  ! '  said 
Ethelberta.  '  I  knew  him  once,  and  he  is  interesting; 
a  few  Httle  things  Hke  that  make  it  all  up.' 

*  The  love  is  all  on  one  side,  as  with  me.* 

*  O  no,  no  :  there  is  nothing  like  that.  I  am  not 
attached  to  any  one,  strictly  speaking — though,  more 
strictly  speaking,  I  am  not  unattached.' 

*  'Tis  a  delightful  middle  mind  to  be  in.  I  know 
it,  for  I  was  like  it  once  ;  but  I  had  scarcely  been  so 
long  enough  to  know  where  I  was  before  I  was  gone 
past.* 

'You  should  have  commanded  yourself,  or  drawn 
back  entirely  ;  for  let  me  tell  you  that  at  the  beginning 
of  caring  for  a  man — ^just  when  you  are  suspended 
between  thinking  and  feeling — there  is  a  hair's-breadth 
of  time  at  which  the  question  of  getting  into  love  or 
not  getting  in  is  a  matter  of  will — quite  a  thing  of 
choice.  At  the  same  time,  drawing  back  is  a  tame 
dance,  and  the  best  of  all  is  to  stay  balanced  awhile.* 

'You  do  that  well,  I'll  warrant.' 

*  Well,  no  ;  for  what  between  continually  wanting 
to  love,  to  escape  the  blank  lives  of  those  who  do  not, 
and  wanting  not  to  love,  to  keep  out  of  the  miseries 
of  those  who  do,  I  get  foolishly  warm  and  foolishly 
cold  by  turns.' 

'  Yes — and  I  am  like  you  as  far  as  the  "  foolishly  " 
goes.  I  wish  we  poor  girls  could  contrive  to  bring  a 
little  wisdom  into  our  love  by  way  of  a  change  ! ' 

*  That's  the  very  thing  that  leading  minds  in  town 
have  begun  to  do,  but  there  are  difficulties.  It  is  easy 
to  love  wisely,  but  the  rich  man  may  not  marry  you  ; 
and  it  is  not  very  hard  to  reject  wisely,  but  the  poor 
man  doesn't  care.  Altogether  it  is  a  precious  problem. 
But  shall  we  clamber  out  upon  those  shining  blocks  of 
rock,  and  find  some  of  the  little  yellow  shells  that  are 
in  the  crevices  ?  I  have  ten  minutes  longer,  and  then 
I  must  go.' 


THE  DINING-ROOM 

OF  A   TOWN  HOUSE 
THE  BUTLER'S  PANTRY 

VII 

A  FEW  weeks  later  there  was  a  friendly  dinner-party 
at  the  house  of  a  gentleman  called  Doncastle,  who 
lived  in  a  moderately  fashionable  square  of  west 
London.  All  the  friends  and  relatives  present  were 
nice  people,  who  exhibited  becoming  signs  of  pleasure 
and  gaiety  at  being  there  ;  but  as  regards  the  vigour 
with  which  these  emotions  were  expressed,  it  may  be 
stated  that  a  slight  laugh  from  far  down  the  throat 
and  a  slight  narrowing  of  the  eye  were  equivalent  as 
indices  of  the  degree  of  mirth  felt  to  a  Ha-ha-ha!  and 
a  shaking  of  the  shoulders  among  the  minor  traders  of 
the  kingdom;  and  to  a  Ho-ho-ho!  contorted  features, 
purple  face,  and  stamping  foot  among  the  gentlemen 
in  corduroy  and  fustian  who  adorn  the  remoter 
provinces. 

The  conversation  was  chiefly  about  a  volume  of 
musical,  tender,  and  humorous  rhapsodies  lately  issued 
to  the  world  in  the  guise  of  verse,  which  had  been 
reviewed  and  talked  about  everywhere.  This  topic, 
beginning  as  a  private  dialogue  between  2l  young 
painter  named  Ladywell  and  the  lady  on  his  right 
hand,  had  enlarged  its  ground  by  degrees,  as  a  subject 
will  extend  on  those  rare  occasions  when  it  happens 
to  be  one  about  which  each  person  has  thought  some- 

53 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

thing  beforehand,  instead  of,  as  in  the  natural  order  of 
things,  one  to  which  the  obHvious  listener  replies 
mechanically,  with  earnest  features,  but  with  thoughts 
far  away.  And  so  the  whole  table  made  the  matter  a 
thing  to  inquire  or  reply  upon  at  once,  and  isolated 
rills  of  other  chat  died  out  like  a  river  in  the  sands. 

'  Witty  things,  and  occasionally  Anacreontic  :  and 
they  have  the  originality  which  such  a  style  must 
naturally  possess  when  carried  out  by  a  feminine  hand,' 
said  Ladywell. 

'  If  it  is  a  feminine  hand,'  said  a  man  near. 

Ladywell  looked  as  if  he  sometimes  knew  secrets, 
thouofh  he  did  not  wish  to  boast. 

'  Written,  I  presume  you  mean,  in  the  Anacreontic 
measure  of  three  feet  and  a  half —  spondees  and 
iambics.'^'  said  a  gentleman  in  spectacles,  glancing 
round,  and  giving  emphasis  to  his  inquiry  by  causing 
bland  glares  of  a  circular  shape  to  proceed  from  his 
glasses  towards  the  person  interrogated. 

The  company  appeared  willing  to  give  considera- 
tion to  the  words  of  a  man  who  knew  such  things  as 
that,  and  hung  forward  to  listen.  But  Ladywell 
stopped  the  whole  current  of  affairs  in  that  direction 
by  saying — 

'O  no;  I  was  speaking  rather  of  the  matter  and 
tone.  In  fact,  the  Seven  Days  Review  said  they  were 
Anacreontic,  you  know ;  and  so  they  are — any  one 
may  feel  they  are.' 

The  general  look  then  implied  a  false  encourage- 
ment, and  the  man  in  spectacles  looked  down  again, 
being  a  nervous  person,  who  never  had  time  to  show 
his  merits  because  he  was  so  much  occupied  in  hiding 
his  faults. 

'  Do  you  know  the  authoress,  Mr.  Neigh  ? '  con- 
tinued Ladywell. 

'Can't  say  that  I  do,'  he  replied. 

NeiQ^h  was  a  man  who  never  disturbed  the  flesh 
upon  his  face  except  when  he  was  obliged  to  do  so, 
and    paused    ten    seconds    where    other    people    only 

54 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

paused  one  ;  as  he  moved  his  chin  in  speaking,  motes 
of  light  from  under  the  candle-shade  caught,  lost,  and 
caught  again  the  outlying  threads  of  his  burnished 
beard. 

'  She  will  be  famous  some  day  ;  and  you  ought  at 
any  rate  to  read  her  book.' 

'  Yes,  I  ought,  I  know.  In  fact,  some  years  ago 
I  should  have  done  it  immediately,  because  I  had  a 
reason  for  pushing  on  that  way  just  then.' 

'Ah,  what  was  that  ?' 

'Well,  I  thought  of  going  in  for  Westminster 
Abbey  myself  at  that  time  ;  but  a  fellow  has  so  much 
to  do,  and ' 

'  What  a  pity  that  you  didn't  follow  it  up.  A  man 
of  your  powers,  T^Ir.  Neigh ' 

*  Afterwards  I  found  I  was  too  steady  for  it,  and 
had  too  much  of  the  respectable  householder  in  me. 
Besides,  so  many  other  men  are  on  the  same  tack  ; 
and  then  I  didn't  care  about  it,  somehow.' 

*  I  don't  understand  high  art,  and  am  utterly  in  the 
dark  on  what  are  the  true  laws  of  criticism,'  a  plain 
married  lady,  who  wore  archaeological  jewellery,  was 
saying  at  this  time.  *  But  I  know  that  I  have  derived 
an  unusual  amount  of  amusement  from  those  verses, 
and  I  am  heartily  thankful  to  '*  E.  "  for  them.' 

*  I  am  afraid,'  said  a  o-entleman  who  was  sufferinof 
from  a  bad  shirt-front,  '  that  an  estimate  which  depends 
upon  feeling  in  that  way  is  not  to  be  trusted  as  per- 
manent opinion.' 

The  subject  now  flitted  to  the  other  end. 

'  Somebody  has  it  that  when  the  heart  flies  out 
before  the  understanding,  it  saves  the  judgment  a 
world  of  pains,'  came  from  a  voice  in  that  quarter. 

'  I,  for  my  part,  like  something  merry,'  said  an 
elderly  w^oman,  whose  face  was  bisected  by  the  edge  of 
a  shadow,  which  toned  her  forehead  and  evelids  to  a 
livid  neutral  tint,  and  left  her  cheeks  and  mouth  like 
metal  at  a  white  heat  in  the  uninterrupted  light.  '  I 
think  the  liveliness  of  those  ballads  as  great  a  recom- 

55 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

mendation  as  any.  After  all,  enough  misery  is  known 
to  us  by  our  experiences  and  those  of  our  friends,  and 
what  we  see  in  the  newspapers,  for  all  purposes  of 
chastening,  without  having  gratuitous  grief  inflicted 
upon  us.' 

'  But  you  would  not  have  wished  that  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet"  should  have  ended  happily,  or  that  Othello 
should  have  discovered  the  perfidy  of  his  Ancient  in 
time  to  prevent  all  fatal  consequences  ?  * 

*  I  am  not  afraid  to  go  so  far  as  that,'  said  the  old 
lady.  *  Shakespeare  is  not  everybody,  and  I  am  sure 
that  thousands  of  people  who  have  seen  those  plays 
would  have  driven  home  more  cheerfully  afterwards  if 
by  some  contrivance  the  characters  could  all  have  been 
joined  together  respectively.  I  uphold  our  anonymous 
author  on  the  general  ground  of  her  levity.' 

*  Well,  it  is  an  old  and  worn  argument — that  about 
the  inexpedience  of  tragedy — and  much  may  be  said 
on  both  sides.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the 
anonymous  Sappho's  verses — for  it  seems  that  she  is 
really  a  woman — are  clever.' 

'  Clever ! '  said  Lady  well — the  young  man  who  had 
been  one  of  the  shooting-party  at  Sandbourne — *  they 
are  marvellously  brilliant.' 

*  She  is  rather  warm  in  her  assumed  character.' 

'  That's  a  sign  of  her  actual  coldness ;  she  lets  off 
her  feeling  in  theoretic  grooves,  and  there  is  sure  to  be 
none  left  for  practical  ones.  Whatever  seems  to  be 
the  most  prominent  vice,  or  the  most  prominent  virtue, 
in  anybody's  writing  is  the  one  thing  you  are  safest 
from  in  personal  dealings  with  the  writer.' 

*  O,  I  don't  mean  to  call  her  warmth  of  feeling  a 
vice  or  virtue  exactly ' 

*  I  agree  with  you,'  said  Neigh  to  the  last  speaker 
but  one,  in  tones  as  emphatic  as  they  possibly  could 
be  without  losing  their  proper  character  of  indifference 
to  the  whole  matter.  '  Warm  sentiment  of  any  sort, 
whenever  we  have  it,  disturbs  us  too  much  to  leave  us 
repose  enough  for  writing  it  down.* 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  I  am  sure,  when  I  was  at  the  ardent  age,'  said 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  in  a  tone  of  pleasantly 
agreeing-  with  every  one,  particularly  those  who  were 
diametrically  opposed  to  each  other,  '  I  could  no  more 
have  printed  such  emotions  and  made  them  public 
than  I — could  have  helped  privately  feeling  them.' 

'  I  wonder  if  she  has  gone  through  half  she  says  ? 
If  so,  what  an  experience  !  ' 

'O  no — not  at  all  likely,'  said  Mr.  Neigh.  *  It  is 
as  risky  to  calculate  people's  ways  of  living  from  their 
waitings  as  their  incomes  from  their  way  of  living.' 

'  She  is  as  true  to  nature  as  fashion  is  false,'  said 
the  painter,  in  his  warmth  becoming  scarcely  compli- 
mentary, as  sometimes  happens  with  young  persons. 
*  I  don't  think  that  she  has  written  a  word  more  than 
what  every  woman  would  deny  feeling  in  a  society 
where  no  woman  says  what  she  means  or  does  what 
she  says.     And  can  any  praise  be  greater  than  that  ? ' 

•Ha-ha!     Capital!' 

*  All  her  verses  seem  to  me,'  said  a  rather  stupid 
person,  '  to  be  simply — 

•*Tral'-la-la-lar- la-la-la', 
Tral'-la-la-lal'-la-la-lu', 
Tral'-la-la-lal'-la-la-lalla', 
Tral'-la-la-lu'." 

When  you  take  away  the  music  there  is  nothing  left. 
Yet  she  is  plainly  a  woman  of  great  culture.' 

'  Have  you  seen  what  the  London  Light  says  about 
them — one  of  the  finest  things  I  have  ever  read  in  the 
way  of  admiration  }  '  continued  Ladywell,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  previous  speaker.  He  lingered  for  a 
reply,  and  then  impulsively  quoted  several  lines  from 
the  periodical  he  had  named,  without  aid  or  hesitation. 
'  Good,  is  it  not }  '  added  Ladywell. 

They  assented,  but  in  such  an  unqualified  manner 
that  half  as  much  readiness  would  have  meant  more. 
But  Ladywell,  though  not  experienced  enough  to  be 
quite  Iree  from  enthusiasm,  was  too  experienced  to  mind 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

indifference  for  more  than  a  minute  or  two.  When  the 
ladies  had  withdrawn,  the  young  man  went  on — 

'  Colonel  Staff  said  a  funny  thing  to  me  yesterday 
about  these  very  poems.  He  asked  me  if  I  knew  her, 
and ' 

'Her?  Why,  he  knows  that  it  is  a  lady  all  the 
time,  and  we  were  only  just  now  doubting  whether  the 
sex  of  the  writer  could  be  really  what  it  seems.  Shame, 
Ladywell!'  said  his  friend  Neigh. 

*  Ah,  Mr.  Ladywell,'  said  another,  'now  we  have 
found  you  out.     You  know  her  ! ' 

*  Now — I  say — ha-ha  ! '  continued  the  painter,  with 
a  face  expressing  that  he  had  not  at  all  tried  to  be 
found  out  as  the  man  possessing  incomparably  superior 
knowledge  of  the  poetess.  '  1  beg  pardon  really,  but 
don't  press  me  on  the  matter.  Upon  my  word  the  secret 
is  not  my  own.  As  I  was  saying,  the  Colonel  said, 
"  Do  you  know  her  ?  " — but  you  don't  care  to  hear  ?  ' 

*  We  shall  be  delighted  ! ' 

*  So  the  Colonel  said,  "  Do  you  know  her  ?  "  adding, 
in  a  most  comic  way,  "  Between  U.  and  E.,  Ladywell, 
I  believe  there  is  a  close  affinity  " — meaning  me,  you 
know,  by  U.     Just  like  the  Colonel — ha-ha-ha!' 

The  older  men  did  not  oblige  Ladywell  a  second 
time  with  any  attempt  at  appreciation  ;  but  a  weird 
silence  ensued,  during  which  tlie  smile  upon  Ladywell's 
face  became  frozen  to  painful  permanence. 

*  Meaning  by  E.,  you  know,  the  "  E  "  of  the  poems 
— heh-heh  ! '  he  added. 

*  It  was  a  very  humorous  incident  certainly,'  said 
his  friend  Neigh,  at  which  there  was  a  laugh — not  from 
anything  connected  with  what  he  said,  but  simply 
because  it  Was  the  right  thing  to  laugh  when  Neigh 
meant  you  to  do  so. 

*  Now  don't.  Neigh — you  are  too  hard  upon  me. 
But,  seriously,  two  or  three  fellows  were  there  when  I 
said  it,  and  they  all  began  laughing — but,  then,  the 
Colonel  said  it  in  such  a  queer  way,  you  know.  But 
you  were  asking  me  about   her?     Well,   the   fact   is, 

58 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

between  ourselves,  I  do  know  that  she  is  a  lady ;  and 
I  don't  mind  telling  a  word ' 

*  But  we  would  not  for  the  world  be  the  means  of 
making  you  betray  her  confidence — would  we,  Jones  ?' 

'  No,  indeed  ;  we  w^ould  not.' 

*  No,  no  ;  it  is  not  that  at  all — this  is  really  too  bad  ! 
— you  must  listen  just  for  a  moment ' 

*  Ladywell,  don't  betray  anybody  on  our  account.' 

*  Whoever  the  illustrious  young  lady  may  be  she 
has  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world,'  said  Mr.  Doncastle 
blandly,  '  and  puts  her  experience  of  the  comedy  of  its 
emotions,  and  of  its  method  of  showing  them,  in  a  very 
vivid  light.' 

'  I  heard  a  man  say  that  the  novelty  with  which 
the  ideas  are  presented  is  more  noticeable  than  the 
originality  of  the  ideas  themselves,'  observed  Neigh. 
'  The  woman  has  made  a  great  talk  about  herself;  and 
I  am  quite  weary  of  people  asking  of  her  condition, 
place  of  abode,  has  she  a  father,  has  she  a  mother,  or 
dearer  one  yet  than  all  other.' 

*  I  would  have  burlesque  quotation  put  down  by 
Act  of  Parliament,  and  all  who  dabble  in  it  placed 
with  him  who  can  cite  Scripture  for  his  purposes,'  said 
Ladywell,  in  retaliation. 

After  a  pause  Neigh  remarked  half-privately  to 
their  host,  who  was  his  uncle  :  '  Your  butler  Chickerel 
is  a  very  intelligent  man,  as  I  have  heard.' 

*Yes,  he  does  very  well,'  said  Mr.  Doncasde. 

*  But  is  he  not  a — very  extraordinary  man  ? ' 

*  Not  to  my  knowledge,'  said  Doncastle,  looking 
up  surprised.      'Why  do  you  think  that,  Alfred? ' 

'Well,  perhaps  it  was  not  a  matter  to  mention. 
He  reads  a  great  deal,  I  dare  say.'^' 

*  I  don't  think  so.' 

*  I  noticed  how  wonderfully  his  face  kindled  when 
we  began  talking  about  the  poems  during  dinner. 
Perhaps  he  is  a  poet  himself  in  disguise.  Did  you 
observe  it  ?  ' 

'  No.     To  the  best  of  my  belief  he  is  a  very  trust- 

59 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

worthy  and  honourable  man.  He  has  been  with  us — 
let  me  see,  how  long? — five  months,  I  think,  and  he 
was  fifteen  years  in  his  last  place.  It  certainly  is  a  new 
side  to  his  character  if  he  publicly  showed  any  interest 
in  the  conversation,  whatever  he  might  have  felt.' 

*  Since  the  matter  has  been  mentioned,'  said  Mr. 
Jones,  '  I  may  say  that  I  too  noticed  the  singularity 
of  it; 

*  If  you  had  not  said  otherwise,*  replied  Doncastle 
somewhat  warmly,  '  I  should  have  asserted  him  to  be 
the  last  man-servant  in  London  to  infringe  such  an 
elementary  rule.  If  he  did  so  this  evening,  it  is 
certainly  for  the  first  time,  and  I  sincerely  hope  that 
no  annoyance  was  caused ' 

*  O  no,  no — not  at  all — it  might  have  been  a 
mistake  of  mine,'  said  Jones.  *  I  should  quite  have 
forgotten  the  circumstance  if  Mr.  Neigh's  words  had 
not  brought  it  to  my  mind.  It  was  really  nothing  to 
notice,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  not  say  a  word  to  him 
about  it  on  my  account.' 

*  He  has  a  taste  that  way,  my  dear  uncle,  nothing 
more,  depend  upon  it,'  said  Neigh.  '  If  I  had  such  a 
man  belonging  to  me  I  should  only  be  too  proud. 
Certainly  do  not  mention  it.' 

*  Of  course  Chickerel  is  Chickerel,'  Mr.  Doncastle 
rejoined.  *  We  all  know  what  that  means.  And 
really,  on  reflecting,  I  do  remember  that  he  is  of  a 
literary  turn  of  mind — not  further  by  an  inch  than  is 
commendable,  you  know.  I  am  quite  aware  as  I 
glance  down  the  papers  and  prints  any  morning  that 
Chickerel's  eyes  have  been  over  the  ground  before 
mine,  and  that  he  generally  forestalls  the  rest  of  us  by 
a  chapter  or  so  in  the  last  new  book  sent  home  ;  but 
in  these  vicious  days  that  particular  weakness  is  really 
virtue,  just  because  it  is  not  quite  a  vice.' 

*Yes,'  said  Mr.  Jones,  the  reflective  man  in 
spectacles,  '  positive  virtues  are  getting  moved  off  the 
stage  :  negative  ones  are  moved  on  to  the  place  of 
positives  ;  we  thank  bare  justice  as  we  used  only  to 

6f. 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

thank  generosity  ;  call  a  man  honest  who  steals  only 
by  law,  and  consider  him  a  benefactor  if  he  does  not 
steal  at  all.' 

'Hear,  hear!'  said  Neigh.  'We  will  decide  that 
Chickerel  is  even  a  better  trained  fellow  than  if  he  had 
shown  no  interest  at  all  in  his  face.' 

'  The  action  being  like  those  trifling  irregularities 
in  art  at  its  vigorous  periods,  which  seemed  designed 
to  hide  the  unpleasant  monotony  of  absolute  symmetry,' 
said  Ladywell. 

On  the  other  hand,  an  affected  want  of  training  of 
that  sort  would  be  even  a  better  disguise  for  an  artful 
man  than  a  perfectly  impassable  demeanour.  He  is 
two  removes  from  discovery  in  a  hidden  scheme,  whilst 
a  neutral  face  is  only  one.' 

'  You  quite  alarm  me  by  these  subtle  theories,'  said 
Mr.  Doncastle,  laughing  ;  and  the  subject  then  became 
compounded  with  other  matters,  till  the  speakers  rose 
to  rejoin  the  charming  flock  upstairs. 

In  the  basement  story  at  this  hour  Mr.  Chickerel 
the  butler,  who  had  formed  the  subject  of  discussion 
on  the  floor  above,  was  busily  engaged  in  looking  after 
his  two  subordinates  as  thev  bustled  about  in  the 
operations  of  clearing  away.  He  was  a  man  of  whom, 
if  the  shape  of  certain  bones  and  muscles  of  the  face  is 
ever  to  be  taken  as  a  guide  to  the  character,  one 
might  safely  have  predicated  conscientiousness  in  the 
performance  of  duties,  a  thorough  knowledge  of  all 
that  appertained  to  them,  a  general  desire  to  live  on 
without  troubling  his  mind  about  anything  which  did 
not  concern  him.  Any  person  interested  in  the  matter 
would  have  assumed  without  hesitation  that  the 
estimate  his  employer  had  given  of  Chickerel  was  a 
true  one — more,  that  not  only  would  the  butler  under 
all  ordinary  circumstances  resolutely  prevent  his  face 
from  showing  curiosity  in  an  unbecoming  way,  but 
that,  with  the  soul  of  a  true  gentleman,  he  would,  if 
necessary,  equivocate  as  readily  as  the  noblest  of  his 

6i 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

betters  to  remove  any  stain  upon  his  honour  in  such 
trifles.  Hence  it  is  apparent  that  if  Chickerel's 
countenance  really  appeared,  as  Neigh  had  asserted, 
full  of  curiosity  with  regard  to  the  gossip  that  was 
going  on,  the  feelings  which  led  to  the  exhibition 
must  have  been  of  a  very  unusual  and  irrepressible 
kind. 

His  hair  was  of  that  peculiar  bluish-white  which  is 
to  be  observed  when  the  oncoming  years,  instead  of 
singling  out  special  locks  of  a  man's  head  for  operating 
against,  advance  uniformly  over  the  whole  field,  and 
enfeeble  the  colour  at  all  points  before  absolutely 
extinguishing  it  anywhere ;  his  nose  was  of  the 
knotty  shape  in  the  gristle  and  earthward  tendency  in 
the  flesh  which  is  commonly  said  to  carry  sound 
judgment  above  it,  his  eyes  were  thoughtful,  and  his 
face  was  thin — a  contour  which,  if  it  at  once  abstracted 
from  his  features  that  cheerful  assurance  of  single- 
minded  honesty  which  adorns  the  exteriors  of  so 
many  of  his  brethren,  might  have  raised  a  presump- 
tion in  the  minds  of  some  beholders  that  perhaps  in 
this  case  the  quality  might  not  be  altogether  wanting 
within. 

The  coffee  having  been  served  to  the  people 
upstairs,  one  of  the  footmen  rushed  into  his  bedroom 
on  the  lower  floor,  and  in  a  few  minutes  emerged 
again  in  the  dress  of  a  respectable  clerk  who  had  been 
born  for  better  things,  with  the  trifling  exceptions  that 
he  wore  a  low-crowned  hat,  and  instead  of  knocking 
his  heels  on  the  pavement  walked  with  a  gait  as 
delicate  as  a  lady's.  Going  out  of  the  area-door  with  a 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  he  mounted  the  steps  hastily  to  keep 
an  appointment  round  the  corner — the  keeping  of  which 
as  a  private  gentleman  necessitated  the  change  of  the 
greater  part  of  his  clothes  twice  within  a  quarter  of  an 
hour — the  limit  of  his  time  of  absence.  The  other 
footman  was  upstairs,  and  the  butler,  finding  that  he 
had  a  few  minutes  to  himself,  sat  down  at  the  table 
and  wrote  : — 

62 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

My  dear  Ethelberta, — I  did  not  intend  to  write  to  you 
for  some  few  days  to  come,  but  the  way  in  which  you  have 
been  talked  about  here  this  evening  makes  me  anxious  to  send 
a  line  or  two  at  once,  though  I  have  very  little  time  to  spare, 
as  usual.  We  have  just  had  a  dinner-party — indeed  the 
carriages  have  not  yet  been  brought  round — and  the  talk  at 
dinner  was  about  your  verses,  of  course.  The  thing  was 
brought  up  by  a  young  fellow  named  Ladywell — do  you  know 
him  ?  He  is  a  painter  by  profession,  but  he  has  a  pretty  good 
private  income  beyond  what  he  gets  by  practising  his  line  of 
business  among  the  nobility,  and  that  I  expect  is  not  little, 
for  he  is  well  known,  and  encouraged  because  he  is  young, 
and  good-looking,  and  so  forth,  His  family  own  a  good  bit 
of  land  somewhere  out  Aldbrickham  way.  However,  I  am 
before  my  story.  From  what  they  all  said  it  is  pretty  clear 
that  vou  are  thougfht  a  crreat  deal  of  in  fashionable  society  as 
a  poetess — but  perhaps  you  know  this  as  well  as  I — moving 
in  it  as  you  do  yourself,  my  dear. 

The  ladies  afterwards  got  very  curious  about  your  age,  so 
curious,  in  fact,  and  so  full  of  certainty  that  you  were  thirty- 
five  and  a  blighted  existence,  if  an  hour,  that  I  felt  inclined  to 
rap  out  there  and  then,  and  hang  what  came  of  it :  *  My 
daughter,  ladies,  was  to  my  own  and  her  mother's  certain 
knowledge  only  twenty-one  last  birthday,  and  has  as  bright  a 
heart  as  anybody  in  London.'  One  of  them  actually  said 
that  you  must  be  fifty  to  have  got  such  an  experience.  Hef 
guess  was  a  very  shrewd  one  in  the  bottom  of  it,  however,  for 
it  was  grounded  upon  the  way  you  use  those  strange  experi- 
ences of  mine  in  the  society  that  I  tell  you  of,  and  dress 
them  up  as  if  they  were  yours  ;  and,  as  you  see,  she  hit  off 
my  own  age  to  a  year.  I  thought  it  was  very  sharp  of  her  to 
be  so  right,  although  so  wrong. 

I  do  not  want  to  influence  your  plans  in  any  way  about 
things  which  your  school  learning  fits  you  to  understand  much 
better  than  I,  who  never  had  such  opportunities,  but  I  think 
that  if  I  were  in  your  place,  Berta,  I  would  not  let  my  name 
be  known  just  yet,  for  people  always  want  what's  kept  from 
them,  and  don't  value  what's  given.  I  am  not  sure,  but  I 
think  that  after  the  women  had  gone  upstairs  the  others 
turned  their  thoughts  upon  you  again  ;  what  they  said  about 
you  I  don't  know,  for  if  there's  one  thing  I  hate  'tis  hanging 
about  the  doors  when  the  men  begin  to  get  moved  by  their 
wine,  which  they  did  to  a  large  extent  to-night,  and  spoke 
very  loud.  They  always  do  here,  for  old  Don  is  a  hearty 
giver  in  his  way.     However,  as   you  see  these  people  from 

63 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

their  own  level  now,  it  is  not  much  that  I  can  tell  you  in 
seeing  them  only  from  the  under  side,  though  I  see  strange 
things  sometimes,  and  of  course — 

*  What  great  ones  do  the  less  will  pratde  of/ 

as  it  says  in  that  book  of  select  pieces  that  you  gave  me. 

Well,  my  dear  girl,  I  hope  you  will  prosper.  One  thing 
above  all  others  you'll  have  to  mind,  and  it  is  that  folk  must 
continually  strain  to  advance  in  order  to  remain  where  they 
are :  and  you  particularly.  But  as  for  trying  too  hard,  I 
wouldn't  do  it.  Much  lies  in  minding  this,  that  your  best 
plan  for  lightness  of  heart  is  to  raise  yourself  a  little  higher 
than  your  old  mates,  but  not  so  high  as  to  be  quite  out  of 
their  reach.  All  human  beings  enjoy  themselves  from  the 
outside,  and  so  getting  on  a  little  has  this  good  in  it,  you  still 
keep  in  your  old  class  where  your  feelings  are,  and  are 
thoughtfully  treated  by  this  class  :  while  by  getting  on  too 
much  you  are  sneered  at  by  your  new  acquaintance,  who 
don't  know  the  skill  of  your  rise,  and  you  are  parted  from  and 
forgot  by  the  old  ones  who  do.  Whatever  happens,  don't  be 
too  quick  to  feel.  You  will  surely  get  some  hard  blows  when 
you  are  found  out,  for  if  the  great  can  find  no  excuse  for 
hitting  with  a  mind,  they'll  do  it  and  say  'twas  in  fun.  But 
you  are  young  and  healthy,  and  youth  and  health  are  power. 
I  wish  I  could  have  a  decent  footman  here  with  me,  but  I 
suppose  it  is  no  use  trying.  It  is  such  men  as  these  that 
provoke  the  contempt  we  get.  Well,  thank  God  a  few  years 
will  see  the  end  of  me,  for  I  am  growing  ashamed  of  my 
company — so  different  as  they  are  to  the  servants  of  old 
times. — Your  affectionate  father, 

R.  Chickerel. 

PS. — Do  not  press  Lady  Petherwin  any  further  to 
remove  the  rules  on  which  you  live  with  her.  She  is  quite 
right :  she  cannot  keep  us,  and  to  recognize  us  would  do  you 
no  good,  nor  us  either.  We  are  content  to  see  you  secretly, 
since  it  is  best  for  you. 


CHRISTOPHERS  LODGINGS 
THE  GROUNDS 

ABOUT  ROOKINGTON 

VIII 

Meanwhile,  in  the  distant  town  of  Sandbourne, 
Christopher  Julian  had  recovered  from  the  weariness 
produced  by  his  labours  at  the  Wyndway  evening- 
party  where  Ethelberta  had  been  a  star.  Instead  of 
engaging  his  energies  to  clear  encumbrances  from  the 
tangled  way  of  his  life,  he  now  set  about  reading  the 
popular  *  Metres  by  E.'  with  more  interest  and  assiduity 
than  ever ;  for  though  Julian  was  a  thinker  by  instinct, 
he  was  a  worker  by  effort  only  ;  and  the  higher  of 
these  kinds  being  dependent  upon  the  lower  for  its 
exhibition,  there  was  often  a  lamentable  lack  of 
evidence  of  his  power  in  either.  It  is  a  provoking 
correlation,  and  has  conduced  to  the  obscurity  of  many 
a  genius. 

'  Kit,'  said  his  sister,  on  reviving  at  the  end  of  the 
bad  headache  which  had  followed  the  dance,  *  those 
poems  seem  to  have  increased  in  value  with  you. 
The  lady,  lofty  as  she  appears  to  be,  would  be  flattered 
if  she  only  could  know  how  much  you  study  them  } 
Have  you  decided  to  thank  her  for  them  t  Now  let 
us  talk  it  over — I  like  having  a  chat  about  such  a 
pretty  new  subject.* 

*  I  would  thank  her  In  a  moment  If  I  were  abso- 
lutely certain  that  she  had  anything  to  do  with  sending 

65 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

them,  or  even  writing  them.  I  am  not  quite  sure  of 
that  yet.' 

'  How  strange  that  a  woman  could  bring  herself  to 
write  those  verses  ! ' 

'  Not  at  all  strange — they  are  natural  outpourings.' 

Faith  looked  critically  at  the  remoter  caverns  of 
the  fire. 

'  Why  strange  ? '  continued  Christopher.  *  There 
is  no  harm  in  them.' 

'  O  no — no  harm.  But  I  cannot  explain  to  you — 
unless  you  see  it  partly  of  your  own  accord — that  to 
WTite  them  she  must  be  rather  a  fast  lady — not  a  bad 
fast  lady  ;  a  nice  fast  lady,  I  mean,  of  course.  There, 
I  have  said  it  now,  and  I  daresay  you  are  vexed  with 
me,  for  your  interest  in  her  has  deepened  to  what  it 
originally  was,  I  think.  I  don't  mean  any  absolute 
harm  by  "  fast,"  Kit.' 

'  Bold,  forward,  you  mean,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

Faith  tried  to  hit  upon  a  better  definition  which 
should  meet  all  views ;  and,  on  failing  to  do  so, 
looked  concerned  at  her  brother's  somewhat  grieved 
appearance,  and  said,  helplessly,  '  Yes,  I  suppose  I 
do.' 

*  ]\Iy  idea  of  her  is  quite  the  reverse.  A  poetess 
must  intrinsically  be  sensitive,  or  she  could  never  feel: 
but  then,  frankness  is  a  rhetorical  necessity  even  with 
the  most  modest,  if  their  inspirations  are  to  do  any 
good  in  the  world.  You  will,  for  certain,  not  be 
interested  in  something  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  which 
I  thought  would  have  pleased  you  immensely  ;  but  it 
is  not  worth  mentioning  now.* 

*  If  you  will  not  tell  me,  never  mind.  But  don't  be 
crabbed,  Kit !  You  know  how  interested  I  am  in  all 
your  affairs.' 

'  It  is  only  that  I  have  composed  an  air  to  one  of 
the  prettiest  of  her  songs,  ''When  tapers  tall" — but  I 
am  not  sure  about  the  power  of  it.  This  is  how  it 
begins — I  threw  it  off  in  a  few  minutes,  after  you  had 
gone  to  bed.' 

66 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

He  went  to  the  piano  and  lightly  touched  over  an 
air,  the  manuscript  copy  of  which  he  placed  in  front  of 
him,  and  listened  to  hear  her  opinion,  having  proved 
its  value  frequently  ;  for  it  was  not  that  of  a  woman 
merely,  but  impersonally  human.  Though  she  was 
unknown  to  fame,  this  was  a  great  gift  in  Faith,  since 
to  have  an  unsexed  judgment  is  as  precious  as  to  be 
an  unsexed  being  is  deplorable. 

'  It  is  very  fair  indeed,'  said  the  sister,  scarcely 
moving  her  lips  in  her  great  attention.  '  Now  again, 
and  again,  and  again.  How  could  you  do  it  in  the 
time ! ' 

Kit  knew  that  she  admired  his  performance  : 
passive  assent  was  her  usual  praise,  and  she  seldom 
insisted  vigorously  upon  any  view  of  his  compositions 
unless  for  purposes  of  emendation. 

'  I  was  thinking  that,  as  I  cannot  very  well  write 
to  her,  I  may  as  well  send  her  this,'  said  Christopher, 
with  lightened  spirits,  voice  to  correspond,  and  eyes 
likewise  ;  *  there  can  be  no  objection  to  it,  for  such 
things  are  done  continually.  Consider  while  I  am 
gone,  Faith.  I  shall  be  out  this  evening  for  an  hour 
or  two.' 

When  Christopher  left  the  house  shortly  after, 
instead  of  going  into  the  town  on  some  errand,  as  was 
customary  whenever  he  went  from  home  after  dark,  he 
ascended  a  back  street,  passed  over  the  hills  behind, 
and  walked  at  a  brisk  pace  inland  along  the  road  to 
Rookington  Park,  where,  as  he  had  learnt,  Ethelberta 
and  Lady  Petherwin  were  staying  for  a  time,  the  day 
or  two  which  they  spent  at  Wyndway  having  formed 
a  short  break  in  the  middle  of  this  visit.  The  moon 
was  shining  to-night,  and  Christopher  sped  onwards 
over  the  pallid  high-road  as  readily  as  he  could  have 
done  at  noonday.  In  three-quarters  of  an  hour  he 
reached  the  park  gates ;  and  entering  now  upon  a 
tract  which  he  had  never  before  explored,  he  went 
along  more  cautiously  and  with  some  uncertainty  as  to 
the  precise  direction   that   the   road   would   take.     A 

6j 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

frosted  expanse  of  even  grass,  on  which  the  shadow  of 
his  head  appeared  with  an  opal  halo  round  it,  soon 
allowed  the  house  to  be  discovered  beyond,  the  other 
portions  of  the  park  abounding  with  timber  older  and 
finer  than  that  of  any  other  spot  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Christopher  withdrew  into  the  shade,  and  wheeled 
round  to  the  front  of  the  building  that  contained  his 
old  love.  Here  he  gazed  and  idled,  as  many  a  man 
has  done  before  him — wondering  which  room  the  fair 
poetess  occupied,  waiting  till  lights  began  to  appear  in 
the  upper  windows — which  they  did  as  uncertainly  as 
glow-worms  blinking  up  at  eventide — and  warming 
with  currents  of  revived  feeling  in  perhaps  the  sweetest 
of  all  conditions.  New  love  is  brightest,  and  long  love 
is  greatest ;  but  revived  love  is  the  tenderest  thing 
known  upon  earth. 

Occupied  thus,  Christopher  was  greatly  surprised 
to  see,  on  casually  glancing  to  one  side,  another  man 
standing  close  to  the  shadowy  trunk  of  another  tree,  in 
a  similar  attitude  to  his  own,  gazing,  with  arms  folded, 
as  blankly  at  the  windows  of  the  house  as  Christopher 
himself  had  been  gazing.  Not  willing  to  be  dis- 
covered, Christopher  stuck  closer  to  his  tree.  While 
he  waited  thus,  the  stranger  began  murmuring  words, 
in  a  slow  soft  voice.  Christopher  listened  till  he 
heard  the  following  : — 

*  Pale  was  the  day  and  rayless,  love, 
That  had  an  eve  so  dim.' 

Two  well-known  lines  from  one  of  Ethelberta's  poems. 
Jealousy  is  a  familiar  kind  of  heat  which  disfigures, 
licks  playfully,  clouds,  blackens,  and  boils  a  man  as  a 
fire  does  a  pot ;  and  on  recognizing  these  pilferings 
from  what  he  had  grown  to  regard  as  his  own  treasury, 
Christopher's  fingers  began  to  nestle  with  great  vigour 
in  the  palms  of  his  hands.  Three  or  four  minutes 
passed,  when  the  unknown  rival  gave  a  last  glance  at 
the  windows,  and  walked  away.  Christopher  did  not 
like    the   look   of  that   walk  at  all — there  was   grace 

68 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

enough  in  it  to  suggest  that  his  antagonist  had  no 
mean  chance  of  finding  favour  in  a  woman's  eyes.  A 
sigh,  too,  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  stranger's  breast ; 
but  as  their  distance  apart  was  too  great  for  any  such 
sound  to  be  heard  by  any  possibihty,  Christopher  set 
down  that  to  imagination,  or  to  the  brushing  of  the 
wind  over  the  trees. 

The  lighted  windows  went  out  one  by  one,  and  all 
the  house  was  in  darkness.  Julian  then  walked  off 
himself,  with  a  vigour  that  was  spasmodic  only,  and 
with  much  less  brightness  of  mind  than  he  had 
experienced  on  his  journey  hither.  The  stranger  had 
gone  another  way,  and  Christopher  saw  no  more  of 
him.  When  he  reached  Sandbourne,  Faith  was  still 
sitting  up. 

'  But  I  told  you  I  was  croinQ:  to  take  a  lonof  walk.' 
he  said. 

'  No,  Christopher  :  really  you  did  not.  How  tired 
and  sad  you  do  look — though  I  always  know  before- 
hand when  you  are  in  that  state  :  one  of  your  feet  has 
a  drag  about  it  as  you  pass  along  the  pavement  outside 
the  window.' 

'Yes,  I  forcrot  that  I  did  not  tell  vou.* 

He  could  not  begin  to  describe  his  pilgrimage  :  it 
was  too  silly  a  thing  even  for  her  to  hear  of. 

'  It  does  not  matter  at  all  about  my  staying  up,' 
said  Faith  assuringly  ;  '  that  is.  if  exercise  benefits  you. 
Walking  up  and  down  the  sands,  I  suppose  ? ' 

*  No  ;  not  walking  up  and  down  the  sands.' 

'The  turnpike-road  to  Rookinoton  is  pleasant.' 

'  Faith,  that  is  really  where  I  have  been.  How 
came  you  to  know  ?' 

'  I  only  guessed.  Verses  and  an  accidental  meeting 
produce  a  special  journey.' 

'  Ethelberta  is  a  fine  woman,  physically  and 
mentally,  both.  I  wonder  people  do  not  talk  about 
her  twice  as  much  as  they  do.' 

'  Then  surely  you  are  getting  attached  to  her  again. 
You    think  you  discover  in  her  more  than  anybody 

69 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

else  does  ;    and  love  begins  with  a  sense  of  superior 
discernment.' 

'  No,  no.  That  is  only  nonsense,'  he  said  hurriedly. 
*  However,  love  her  or  love  her  not,  I  can  keep  a 
corner  of  my  heart  for  you,  Faith.  There  is  another 
brute  after  her  too,  it  seems.' 

*  Of  course  there  is :  I  expect  there  are  many. 
Her  position  in  society  is  above  ours,  so  that  it  is  an 
unwise  course  to  go  troubling  yourself  more  about 
her.' 

*  No.  If  a  needy  man  must  be  so  foolish  as  to  fall 
in  love,  it  is  best  to  do  so  where  he  cannot  double  his 
foolishness  by  marrying  the  woman.' 

*  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  so  slightingly  of  what 
poor  father  did.' 

Christopher  fixed  his  attention  on  the  supper. 
That  night,  late  as  it  was,  when  Faith  was  in  bed  and 
sleeping,  he  sat  before  a  sheet  of  music-paper,  neatly 
copying  his  composition  upon  it.  The  manuscript  was 
intended  as  an  offering  to  Ethelberta  at  the  first 
convenient  opportunity. 

'Well,  after  all  my  trouble  to  find  out  about 
Ethelberta,  here  comes  the  clue  unasked  for,'  said  the 
musician  to  his  sister  a  few  days  later. 

She  turned  and  saw  that  he  was  reading  the 
We s sex  Reflector. 

'  What  is  it  .^ '  asked  Faith. 

*  The  secret  of  the  true  authorship  of  the  book  is 
out  at  last,  and  it  is  Ethelberta  of  course.  I  am  so 
glad  to  have  it  proved  hers.' 

*  But  can  we  believe ?  * 

'  O  yes.  Just  hear  what  ''  Our  London  Corre- 
spondent"  says.  It  is  one  of  the  nicest  bits  of  gossip 
that  he  has  furnished  us  with  for  a  long  time.' 

*  Yes  :  now  read  it,  do.' 

*"The  author  of  'Metres  by  E.,""  Christopher 
began,  *  *'a  book  of  which  so  much  has  been  said  and 
conjectured,  and  one,  in  fact,  that  has  been  the  chief 

7o 


A  COMEDY  IiN  CHAPTERS 

talk  for  several  weeks  past  of  the  literary  clubs  to 
which  I  belong,  is  a  young  lady  who  was  a  widow 
before  she  reached  the  age  of  nineteen,  and  is  now  not 
far  beyond  her  fourth  lustrum.  I  was  additionally  in- 
formed by  a  friend  whom  I  met  yesterday  on  his  way 
to  the  House  of  Lords,  that  her  name  is  Mrs.  Petherwin 
— Christian  name  Ethelberta  ;  and  that  she  resides 
with  her  mother-in-law  at  their  house  in  Exonbury 
Crescent.  She  is,  moreover,  the  daughter  of  the  late 
Bishop  of  Silchester  (if  report  may  be  believed),  whose 
active  benevolence,  as  your  readers  know,  left  his 
family  in  comparatively  straightened  circumstances  at 
his  death.  The  marriage  was  a  secret  one,  and  much 
against  the  wish  of  her  husband's  friends,  who  are 
wealthy  people  on  all  sides.  The  death  of  the  bride- 
groom two  or  three  weeks  after  the  wedding  led  to  a 
reconciliation  ;  and  the  young  poetess  was  taken  to 
the  home  which  she  still  occupies,  devoted  to  the 
composition  of  such  brilliant  effusions  as  those  the 
world  has  lately  been  favoured  with  from  her  pen.'" 

*  If  you  want  to  send  her  your  music,  you  can  do  so 
now,'  said  Faith. 

*  I  might  have  sent  it  before,  but  I  wanted  to 
deliver  it  personally.  However,  it  is  all  the  same 
now,  I  suppose,  whether  I  send  it  or  not.  I  always 
knew  that  our  destinies  would  lie  apart,  though  she 
w^as  once  temporarily  under  a  cloud.  Her  momentary 
inspiration  to  write  that  "Cancelled  Words"  was  the 
worst  possible  omen  for  me.  It  showed  that,  thinking  ^ 
me  no  longer  useful  as  a  practical  chance,  she  would 
make  me  ornamental  as  a  poetical  regret.  But  I'll 
send  the  manuscript  of  the  song.' 

*  In  the  way  of  business,  as  a  composer  only  ;  and 
you  must  say  to  yourself,  "  Ethelberta,  as  thou  art  but 
woman,  I  dare  ;  but  as  widow  I  fear  thee.'" 

Notwithstanding  Christopher's  affected  careless- 
ness, that  evening  saw  a  great  deal  of  nicety  bestowed 
upon  the  operation  of  wrapping  up  and  sending  off  the 
song.     He  dropped  it  into  the  box  and  heard  it  fall,  and 

/I 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

with  the  curious  power  which  he  possessed  of  setting 
his  wisdom  to  watch  any  particular  folly  in  himself 
that  it  could  not  hinder,  speculated  as  he  walked  on 
the  result  of  this  first  tangible  step  of  return  to  his  old 
position  as  Ethelberta*s  lover. 


A  LADY'S  DRA  WING-ROOMS 
ETHELBERTA'S 

DRESSING-ROOM 
IX 

It  was  a  house  on  the  north  side  of  Hyde  Park, 
between  ten  and  eleven  in  the  evening,  and  several 
intelligent  and  courteous  people  had  assembled  there 
to  enjoy  themselves  as  far  as  it  was  possible  to  do  so 
in  a  neutral  way — all  carefully  keeping  every  variety  of 
feeling  in  a  state  of  solution,  in  spite  of  any  attempt 
such  feelings  made  from  time  to  time  to  crystallize  on 
interesting  subjects  in  hand. 

*  Neigh,  who  is  that  charming  woman  with  her 
head  built  up  in  a  novel  way  even  for  hair  architecture 
— the  one  with  her  back  towards  us  ? '  said  a  man 
whose  coat  fitted  doubtfully  to  a  friend  whose  coat 
fitted  well. 

'Just  going  to  ask  for  the  same  information/  said 
Mr.  Neigh,  determining  the  very  longest  hair  in  his 
beard  to  an  infinitesimal  nicety  by  drawing  its  lower 
portion  through  his  fingers.  *  I  have  quite  forgotten 
— cannot  keep  people's  names  in  my  head  at  all ;  nor 
could  my  father  either — nor  any  of  my  family — a  very 
odd  thing.  But  my  old  friend  Mrs.  Napper  knows 
for  certain.'  And  he  turned  to  one  of  a  small  group  of 
middle-aged  persons  near,  who,  instead  of  skimming 
the  surface  of  things  in  general,  like  the  rest  of  the 
company,  were  going  into  the  very  depths  of  them. 

73 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*0  —  that  Is  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Petherwin,  the 
woman  who  mrikes  rhymes  and  prints  em,'  said  Mrs. 
Napper,  in  a  detached  sentence,  and  then  continued 
talking  again  to  those  on  the  other  side  of  her. 

The  two  loungers  went  on  with  their  observations 
of  Ethelberta's  headdress,  which,  though  not  extra- 
ordinary or  eccentric,  did  certainly  convey  an  idea  of 
indefinable  novelty.  Observers  were  sometimes  half 
inclined  to  think  that  her  cuts  and  modes  were  acquired 
by  some  secret  communication  with  the  mysterious 
clique  which  orders  the  livery  of  the  fashionable  world, 
for — and  it  affords  a  parallel  to  cases  in  which  clever 
thinkers  in  other  spheres  arrive  independently  at  one 
and  the  same  conclusion — Ethelberta's  fashion  often 
turned  out  to  be  the  coming  one. 

*  O,  is  that  the  woman  at  last."*'  said  Neigh,  dimin- 
ishing his  broad  general  gaze  at  the  room  to  a  close 
criticism  of  Ethelberta. 

* "  The  rhymes,"  as  Mrs.  Napper  calls  them,  are 
not  to  be  despised,'  said  his  companion.  *  They  are 
not  quite  virginibus pzie risque,  and  the  writer's  opinions 
of  life  and  society  differ  very  materially  from  mine,  but 
I  cannot  help  admiring  her  in  the  more  reflective 
pieces  ;  the  songs  I  don't  care  for.  The  method  in 
which  she  handles  curious  subjects,  and  at  the  same 
time  impresses  us  with  a  full  conviction  of  her  modesty, 
is  very  adroit,  and  somewhat  blinds  us  to  the  fact  that 
no  such  poems  were  demanded  of  her  at  all.' 

'  I  have  not  read  them,'  said  Neigh,  secretly  wrest- 
ling with  his  jaw,  to  prevent  a  yawn  ;  '  but  I  suppose 
I  must.  The  truth  is,  that  I  never  care  much  for 
reading  what  one  ought  to  read  ;  I  wish  I  did,  but  I 
cannot  help  it.  And,  no  doubt,  you  admire  the  lady 
immensely  for  writing  them  :  I  don't.  Everybody  is 
so  talented  now-a-days  that  the  only  people  I  care  to 
honour  as  deserving  real  distinction  are  those  who 
remain  in  obscurity.  I  am  myself  hoping  for  a  corner 
in  some  biographical  dictionary  when  the  time  comes 
for  those  works  only  to  contain  lists  of  the  exceptional 

74 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

individuals  of  whom  nothing  is  known  but  that  they 
lived  and  died.' 

*  Ah — listen.  They  are  going  to  sing  one  of  her 
songs,'  said  his  friend,  looking  towards  a  bustling 
movement  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  piano.  *  I 
believe  that  song,  ''  When  tapers  tall,"  has  been  set  to 
music  by  three  or  four  composers  already.' 

'Men  of  any  note?'  said  Neigh,  at  last  beaten 
by  his  yawn,  which  courtesy  nevertheless  confined 
within  his  person  to  such  an  extent  that  only  a  few 
unimportant  symptoms,  such  as  reduced  eyes  and  a 
certain  rectangular  manner  of  mouth  in  speaking,  were 
visible. 

*  Scarcely,'  replied  the  other  man.  *  Established 
writers  of  music  do  not  expend  their  energies  upon 
new  verse  until  they  find  that  such  verse  is  likely  to 
endure ;  for  should  the  poet  be  soon  forgotten,  their 
labour  is  in  some  degree  lost.' 

*  Artful  dogs — who  would  have  thought  it  ? '  said 
Neigh,  just  as  an  exercise  in  words  ;  and  they  drew 
nearer  to  the  piano,  less  to  become  listeners  to  the 
singing  than  to  be  spectators  of  the  scene  in  that 
quarter.  But  among  some  others  the  interest  in  the 
songs  seemed  to  be  very  great ;  and  it  was  unanim- 
ously wished  that  the  young  lady  who  had  practised 
the  different  pieces  of  music  privately  would  sing  some 
of  them  now  in  the  order  of  their  composers'  reputations. 
The  musical  persons  in  the  room  unconsciously  resolved 
themselves  into  a  committee  of  taste. 

One  and  another  had  been  tried,  when,  at  the  end 
of  the  third,  a  lady  spoke  to  Ethelberta. 

'  Now,  Mrs.  Petherwin,'  she  said,  gracefully  throw- 
ing back  her  face,  'your  opinion  is  by  far  the  most 
valuable.  In  which  of  the  cases  do  you  consider 
the  marriage  of  verse  and  tune  to  have  been  most 
successful  ?  ' 

Ethelberta,  finding  these  and  other  unexpected 
calls  made  upon  herself,  came  to  the  front  without 
flinching. 

75 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*The  sweetest  and  the  best  that  I  like  by  far,'  she 
said,  'is  none  of  these.  It  is  one  which  reached  me 
by  post  only  this  morning  from  a  place  in  Wessex, 
and  is  written  by  an  unheard-of  man  who  lives  some- 
where down  there — a  man  who  will  be,  nevertheless, 
heard  a  great  deal  of  some  day,  I  hope — think.  I 
have  only  practised  it  this  afternoon  ;  but,  if  one's  own 
judgment  is  worth  anything,  it  is  the  best.* 

*  Let  us  have  your  favourite,  by  all  means,*  said 
another  friend  of  Ethelberta's  who  was  present — Mrs. 
Doncastle. 

*  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  cannot  oblige  you,  since  you 
wish  to  hear  it,'  replied  the  poetess  regretfully  ;  '  but 
the  music  is  at  home.  I  had  not  received  it  when  I 
lent  the  others  to  Miss  Belmaine,  and  it  is  only  in 
manuscript  like  the  rest.' 

'  Could  it  not  be  sent  for  ? '  suggested  an  enthusiast 
who  knew  that  Ethelberta  lived  only  in  the  next  street, 
appealing  by  a  look  to  her,  and  then  to  the  mistress  of 
the  house. 

'Certainly,  let  us  send  for  it,*  said  that  lady.  A 
footman  was  at  once  quietly  despatched  with  precise 
directions  as  to  where  Christopher's  sweet  production 
might  be  found. 

'What — is  there  going  to  be  something  interest- 
ing?' asked  a  young  married  friend  of  Mrs.  Napper, 
who  had  returned  to  her  original  spot. 

'  Yes — the  best  song  she  has  written  is  to  be  sung 
in  the  best  manner  to  the  best  air  that  has  been  com- 
posed for  it.  I  should  not  wonder  if  she  were  going 
to  sing  it  herself 

'  Did  you  know  anything  of  Mrs.  Petherwin  until 
her  name  leaked  out  in  connection  with  these  ballads  ?' 

'  No  ;  but  I  think  I  recollect  seeing  her  once  before. 
She  is  one  of  those  people  who  are  known,  as  one 
may  say,  by  subscription  :  everybody  knows  a  little, 
till  she  is  astonishingly  well  known  altogether ;  but 
nobody  knows  her  entirely.  She  was  the  orphan  child 
of  some  clergyman,   I   believe.      Lady  Petherwin,  her 

76 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

mother-in-law,  has  been  taking  her  about  a  great  deal 
latterly.' 

*  She  has  apparently  a  very  good  prospect.' 

'  Yes  ;  and  it  is  through  her  being  of  that  curious 
undefined  character  which  interprets  itself  to  each 
admirer  as  whatever  he  would  like  to  have  it.  Old 
men  like  her  because  she  is  so  girlish  ;  youths  because 
she  is  womanly  ;  wicked  men  because  she  is  good  in 
their  eyes  ;  good  men  because  she  is  wicked  in  theirs.' 

'  She  must  be  a  very  anomalous  sort  of  woman,  at 
that  rate.' 

*  Yes.  Like  the  British  Constitution,  she  owes  her 
success  in  practice  to  her  inconsistencies  in  principle.' 

*  These  poems  must  have  set  her  up.  She  ap- 
pears to  be  quite  the  correct  spectacle.  Happy  Mrs. 
Petherwin ! ' 

The  subject  of  their  dialogue  was  engaged  in  a 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Belmaine  upon  the  manage- 
ment of  households — a  theme  provoked  by  a  discussion 
that  was  in  progress  in  the  pages  of  some  periodical 
of  the  time.  Mrs.  Belmaine  was  very  full  of  the  argu- 
ment, and  went  on  from  point  to  point  till  she  came  to 
servants. 

The  face  of  Ethelberta  showed  caution  at  once. 

'  I  consider  that  Lady  Plamby  pets  her  servants 
by  far  too  much,'  said  Mrs.  Belmaine.  *  O,  you  do 
not  know  her  ?  Well,  she  is  a  woman  with  theories  ; 
and  she  lends  her  maids  and  men  books  of  the  wrong 
kind  for  their  station,  and  sends  them  to  picture  exhibi- 
tions which  they  don't  in  the  least  understand  —  all 
for  the  improvement  of  their  taste,  and  morals,  and 
nobody  knows  what  besides.  It  only  makes  them 
dissatisfied.' 

The  face  of  Ethelberta  showed  venturesomeness. 
*Yes,  and  dreadfully  ambitious!'  she  said. 

*  Yes,  indeed.     What  a  turn  the  times  have  taken  ! 
People  of  that  sort  push  on,  and  get  into  business,  and 
get  great  warehouses,  until  at  last,  without  ancestor^^ 
or  family,  or  name,  or  estate ' 

77 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Or  the  merest  scrap  of  heirloom  or  family  jewel.' 

*  Or  heirlooms,  or  family  jewels,  they  are  thought  as 
much  of  as  if  their  forefathers  had  glided  unobtrusively 
through  the  peerage ' 

*  Ever  since  the  first  edition.' 

*Yes.'  Mrs.  Belmaine,  who  really  sprang  from  a 
good  old  family,  had  been  going  to  say,  '  for  the  last 
seven  hundred  years,'  but  fancying  from  Ethelberta's 
addendum  that  she  might  not  date  back  more  than  a 
trifling  century  or  so,  adopted  the  suggestion  with  her 
usual  well-known  courtesy,  and  blushed  down  to  her 
locket  at  the  thought  of  the  mistake  that  she  might 
have  made.  This  sensitiveness  was  a  trait  in  her 
character  which  gave  great  gratification  to  her  husband, 
and,  indeed,  to  all  who  knew  her. 

'  And  have  you  any  theory  on  the  vexed  question 
of  servant-government  ?  '  continued  Mrs.  Belmaine, 
smiling.  *  But  no — the  subject  is  of  far  too  practical 
a  nature  for  one  of  your  bent,  of  course.' 

*0  no — it  is  not  at  all  too  practical.  I  have 
thought  of  the  matter  often,'  said  Ethelberta.  *  I 
think  the  best  plan  would  be  for  somebody  to  write 
a  pamphlet,  "The  Shortest  Way  with  the  Servants," 
just  as  there  was  once  written  a  terribly  stinging  one, 
"  The  Shortest  Way  with  the  Dissenters,"  which  had 
a  great  effect.' 

'  I  have  always  understood  that  that  was  written  by 
a  dissenter  as  a  satire  upon  the  Church  ?  ' 

'  Ah — so  it  was  :  but  the  example  will  do  to  illustrate 
my  meaning.' 

'  Quite  so — I  understand — so  it  will,'  said  Mrs. 
Belmaine,  with  clouded  faculties. 

Meanwhile  Christopher's  music  had  arrived.  An 
accomplished  gentleman,  who  had  every  musical  talent 
except  that  of  creation,  scanned  the  notes  carefully 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  sat  down  to  accompany  the 
singer.  There  was  no  lady  present  of  sufficient  con- 
fidence or  skill  to  venture  into  a  song  she  had  never 
seen  before,   and  the  on!v  one  who  had  seen  it  was 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  herself;  she  did  not  deny  having  practised 
it   the  greater  part  of  the   afternoon,    and  was    very 
willing  to  sing  it  now  if  anybody  would  derive  pleasure 
from   the   performance.       Then   she    began,   and    the 
sweetness    of  her    singing    was    such    that    even    the 
most   unsympathetic   honoured   her   by   looking   as   if 
they   would   be   willing   to    listen    to    every   note    the 
song  contained  if  it  were  not  quite  so  much  trouble 
to  do  so.     Some    were  so  interested  that,  instead  of 
continuing  their  conversation,  they  remained  in  silent 
consideration    of   how   they    would    continue   it  when 
she  had   finished  ;    while  the  particularly  civil  people 
arranged  their  countenances  into  every  attentive  form 
that  the  mind   could   devise.      One  emotional  gentle- 
man  looked  at   the  corner   of  a   chair  as  if,   till  that 
moment,  such  an  object  had  never  crossed  his  vision 
before  ;   the  movement  of  his  finger  to  the  imagined 
tune  was,  for  a  deaf  old  clergyman,  a  perfect  mine  of 
interest ;    whilst  a  young  man  from  the  country  was 
powerless   to   put   an    end    to    an    enchanted    gaze  at 
nothing  at  all  in  the  exact  middle  of  the  room  before 
him.      Neigh,    and  the  general  phalanx   of  cool   men 
and  celebrated  club  yawners,   were  so  much  affected 
that  they  raised  their  chronic  look  of  great  objection 
to  things,  to  an  expression  of  scarcely  any  objection 
at  all. 

'  What  makes  it  so  interesting,*  said  Mrs.  Doncastle 
to  Ethelberta,  when  the  song  was  over  and  she  had 
retired  from  the  focus  of  the  company,  *  is,  that  it  is 
played  from  the  composer's  own  copy,  which  has  never 
met  the  public  eye,  or  any  other  than  his  own  before 
to-day.  And  I  see  that  he  has  actually  sketched  in 
the  lines  by  hand,  instead  of  having  ruled  paper — ^just 
as  the  great  old  composers  used  to  do.  You  must 
have  been  as  pleased  to  get  it  fresh  from  the  stocks 
like  that  as  he  probably  was  pleased  to  get  your 
thanks.' 

Ethelberta  became  reflective.  She  had  not  thanked 
Christopher  ;    moreover,  she  had  decided,  after  some 

79 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

consideration,  that  she  ought  not  to  thank  him.  What 
new  thoughts  were  suggested  by  that  remark  of  Mrs. 
Doncastle's,  and  what  new  inclination  resulted  from 
the  public  presentation  of  his  tune  and  her  words  as 
parts  of  one  organic  whole,  are  best  explained  by 
describing  her  doings  at  a  later  hour,  when,  having 
left  her  friends  somewhat  early,  she  had  reached  home 
and  retired  from  public  view  for  that  evening. 

Ethelberta  went  to  her  room,  sent  away  the  maid 
who  did  double  duty  for  herself  and  Lady  Petherwin, 
walked  in  circles  about  the  carpet  till  the  fire  had 
grown  haggard  and  cavernous,  sighed,  took  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  wrote  : — 

Dear  Mr.  Julian, — I  have  said  I  would  not  write  :  I  have 
said  it  twice ;  but  discretion,  under  some  circumstances,  is 
only  another  name  for  unkindness.  Before  thanking  you  for 
your  sweet  gift,  let  me  tell  you  in  a  few  words  of  something 
which  may  materially  change  an  aspect  of  affairs  under  which 
1  appear  to  you  to  deserve  it. 

With  regard  to  my  history  and  origin  you  are  altogether 
mistaken  ;  and  how  can  I  tell  whether  your  bitterness  at  my 
previous  silence  on  those  points  may  not  cause  you  to  with- 
draw your  act  of  courtesy  now  ?  But  the  gratification  of 
having  at  last  been  honest  with  you  may  compensate  even 
for  the  loss  of  your  respect. 

The  matter  is  a  small  one  to  tell,  after  all.  What  will  you 
say  on  learning  that  I  am  not  the  trodden-down  "  lady  by 
birth  "  that  you  have  supposed  me  ?  That  my  father  is  not 
dead,  as  you  probably  imagine  ;  that  he  is  working  for  his 
living  as  one  among  a  peculiarly  stigmatized  and  ridiculed 
multitude? 

Had  he  been  a  brawny  cottager,  carpenter,  mason,  black- 
smith, well-digger,  navvy,  tree-feller — any  effective  and  manly 
trade,  in  short,  a  worker  in  which  can  stand  up  in  the  face  of 
the  noblest  and  daintiest,  and  bare  his  gnarled  arms  and  say, 
with  a  consciousness  of  superior  power,  "  Look  at  a  real  man  !  " 
I  should  have  been  able  to  show  you  antecedents  which,  if 
not  intensely  romantic,  are  not  altogether  antagonistic  to 
romance.  But  the  present  fashion  of  associating  with  one 
particular  class  everything  that  is  ludicrous  and  bombastic 
overpowers  me  when  I  think  of  it  in  relation  to  myself  and 
your  known  sensitiveness.  When  the  well-born  poetess  of 
good  report  melts  into  .  ,  . 

80 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Having  got  thus  far,  a  faint-hearted  look,  which 
had  begun  to  show  itself  several  sentences  earlier, 
became  pronounced.  She  threw  the  writing  into  the 
dull  fire,  poked  and  stirred  it  till  a  red  inflammation 
crept  over  the  sheet,  and  then  started  anew  : — 

Dear  Mr.  Julian, — Not  knowing  your  present  rank  as 
composer — whether  on  the  very  brink  of  fame,  or  as  yet  a 
long  way  off — I  cannot  decide  what  form  of  expression  my 
earnest  acknowledgments  should  take.  Let  me  simply  say 
in  one  short  phrase,  I  thank  you  infinitely  ! 

I  am  no  musician,  and  my  opinion  on  music  may  not  be 
worth  much  :  yet  I  know  what  I  like  (as  everybody  says,  but 
I  do  not  use  the  words  as  a  form  to  cover  a  hopeless  blank  on 
all  connected  with  the  subject),  and  this  sweet  air  I  love. 
You  must  have  glided  like  a  breeze  about  me — seen  into  a 
heart  not  worthy  of  scrutiny,  jotted  down  words  that  cannot 
justify  attention — before  you  could  have  apotheosized  the 
song  in  so  exquisite  a  manner.  My  gratitude  took  the  form 
of  wretchedness  when,  on  hearing  the  effect  of  the  ballad  in 
public  this  evening,  I  thought  that  I  had  not  power  to  with- 
hold a  reply  which  might  do  us  both  more  harm  than  good. 
Then  I  said,  '  Away  with  all  emotion — I  wish  the  world  was 
drained  dry  of  it — I  will  take  no  notice,'  when  a  lady 
whispered  at  my  elbow  to  the  effect  that  of  course  I  had 
expressed  my  gratification  to  you.  I  ought  first  to  have 
mentioned  that  your  creation  has  been  played  to-night  to 
full  drawing-rooms,  and  the  original  tones  cooled  the  artificial 
air  like  a  fountain  almost. 

I  prophesy  great  things  of  you.  Perhaps,  at  the  time  when 
we  are  each  but  a  row  of  bones  in  our  individual  graves,  your 
genius  will  be  remembered,  while  my  mere  cleverness  will  have 
been  lons^  forgrotten. 

But — you  must  allow  a  woman  of  experience  to  say  this — 
the  undoubted  power  that  you  possess  will  do  you  socially  no 
good  unless  you  mix  with  it  the  ingredient  of  ambition — a 
quality  in  which  I  fear  you  are  very  deficient.  It  is  in  the 
hope  of  stimulating  you  to  a  better  opinion  of  yourself  that  I 
write  this  letter. 

Probably  I  shall  never  meet  you  again.  Not  that  I  think 
circumstances  to  be  particularly  powerful  to  prevent  such  a 
meeting,  rather  it  is  that  I  shall  energetically  avoid  it.  There 
can  be  no  such  thing  as  strong  friendship  between  a  man  and 
a  woman  not  of  one  family. 

More  than  that  there  must  not  be,  and  this  is  why  we  will 

8i 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

not  meet.  You  see  that  I  do  not  mince  matters  at  all  ;  but 
it  is  hypocrisy  to  avoid  touching  upon  a  subject  which  all 
men  and  women  in  our  position  inevitably  think  of,  no  matter 
what  they  say.  Some  women  might  have  written  distantly, 
and  wept  at  the  repression  of  their  real  feeling  ;  but  it  is  better 
to  be  more  frank,  and  keep  a  dry  eye. — Yours, 

ETHELBERTA. 

Her  feet  felt  cold  and  her  heart  weak  as  she 
directed  the  letter,  and  she  was  overpowered  with 
weariness.  But  murmuring,  '  If  I  let  it  stay  till  the 
morning  I  shall  not  send  it,  and  a  man  may  be  lost 
to  fame  because  of  a  woman's  squeamishness — it  shall 
go,'  she  partially  dressed  herself,  wrapped  a  large  cloak 
around  her,  descended  the  stairs,  and  went  out  to  the 
pillar-box  at  the  corner,  leaving  the  door  not  quite 
close.  No  gust  of  wind  had  realized  her  misgivings 
that  it  might  be  blown  shut  on  her  return,  and  she 
re-entered  as  softly  as  she  had  emerged. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Ethelberta  had  said  nothing 
about  her  family  after  all. 


LADY  PETHERWIN'S  HOUSE 


The  next  day  old  Lady  Petherwin,  who  had  not  ac- 
companied Ethelberta  the  night  before,  came  into  the 
morning-room,  with  a  newspaper  in  her  hand. 

'What  does  this  mean,  Ethelberta?'  she  inquired 
in  tones  from  which  every  shade  of  human  expressive- 
ness was  extracted  by  some  awful  and  imminent  mood 
that  lay  behind.  She  was  pointing  to  a  paragraph 
under  the  heading  of  '  Literary  Notes,'  which  contained 
in  a  few  words  the  announcement  of  Ethelberta's 
authorship  that  had  more  circumstantially  appeared  m 
the  We s sex  Reflector. 

'  It  means  what  it  says,'  said  Ethelberta  quietly. 

'  Then  it  is  true  '^  ' 

'Yes.  I  must  apologize  for  having  kept  it  such  a 
secret  from  you.  It  was  not  done  in  the  spirit  that 
you  may  imagine  :  it  was  merely  to  avoid  disturbincr 
your  mind  that  I  did  it  so  privately.' 

'  But  surely  you  have  not  written  every  one  of 
those  ribald  verses  ?  ' 

Ethelberta  looked  inclined  to  exclaim  most  vehe- 
mently against  this  ;  but  what  she  actually  did  say 
was,  '  "  Ribald  " — what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  I  don't 
think  that  you  are  aware  what  "  ribald  "  means.' 

'  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am.  As  regards  some  words 
as  well  as  some  persons,  the  less  you  are  acquainted 
with  them  the  more  it  is  to  your  credit.' 

*  I  don't  quite  deserve  this,  Lady  Petherwin.* 

83 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Really,  one  would  imagine  that  women  wrote 
their  books  during  those  dreams  in  which  people  have 
no  moral  sense,  to  see  how  improper  some,  even 
virtuous,  ladies  become  when  they  get  into  print.' 

*  I  might  have  done  a  much  more  unnatural  thing 
than  write  those  poems.  And  perhaps  I  might  have 
done  a  much  better  thing,  and  got  less  praise.  But 
that's  the  world's  fault,  not  mine.' 

*  You  might  have  left  them  unwritten,  and  shown 
more  fidelity.' 

'  Fidelity !  it  is  more  a  matter  of  humour  than 
principle.     What  has  fidelity  to  do  with  it  ? ' 

*  Fidelity  to  my  dear  boy's  memory.' 

'  It  would  be  difficult  to  show  that  because  I  have 
written  so-called  gay  and  amatory  verse,  I  feel  amatory 
and  gay.  It  is  too  often  assumed  that  a  person's 
fancy  is  a  person's  real  mind.  I  believe  that  in  the 
majority  of  cases  one  is  fond  of  imagining  the  direct 
opposite  of  one's  principles  in  sheer  effort  after  some- 
thing fresh  and  free  ;  at  any  rate,  some  of  the  lightest 
of  those  rhymes  were  composed  between  the  deepest 
fits  of  dismals  I  have  ever  known.  However,  I  did 
expect  that  you  might  judge  in  the  way  you  have 
judged,  and  that  was  my  chief  reason  for  not  telling 
you  what  I  had  done.' 

*  You  don't  deny  that  you  tried  to  escape  from 
recollections  you  ought  to  have  cherished  ?  There  is 
only  one  thing  that  women  of  your  sort  are  as  ready 
to  do  as  to  take  a  man's  name,  and  that  is,  drop  his 
memory.' 

'  Dear  Lady  Petherwin — don't  be  so  unreasonable 
as  to  blame  a  live  person  for  living !  No  woman's 
head  is  so  small  as  to  be  filled  for  life  by  a  memory  of  a 
few  months.  Over  three  years  have  passed  since  I  last 
saw  my  boy-husband.  We  were  mere  children  ;  see 
how  I  have  altered  since  in  mind,  substance,  and  out- 
line— I  have  even  grown  half  an  inch  taller  since  his 
death.  Two  years  will  exhaust  the  regrets  of  widows 
who  have  long  been  faithful  wives  ;  and  ought  I  not 

84 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

to  show  a  little  new  life  when  my  husband  died  in  the 
honeymoon?  * 

'  No.  Accepting  the  protection  of  your  husband's 
mother  was,  in  effect,  an  avowal  that  you  rejected  the 
idea  of  being  a  widow  to  prolong  the  idea  of  being  a 
wife  ;  and  the  sin  against  your  conventional  state  thus 
assumed  is  almost  as  bad  as  would  have  been  a  sin 
against  the  married  state  itself  If  you  had  gone  off 
when  he  died,  saying,  "  Thank  heaven,  I  am  free ! " 
you  would,  at  any  rate,  have  shown  some  real  honesty.* 

'  I  should  have  been  more  virtuous  by  being  more 
unfeeling.     That  often  happens.' 

'  I  have  taken  to  you,  and  made  a  great  deal  of 
you — given  you  the  inestimable  advantages  of  foreign 
travel  and  good  society  to  enlarge  your  mind.  In 
short,  I  have  been  like  a  Naomi  to  you  in  everything, 
and  I  maintain  that  writing  these  poems  saps  the 
foundation  of  it  all.' 

*  I  do  own  that  you  have  been  a  very  good  Naomi 
to  me  thus  far  ;  but  Ruth  was  quite  a  fast  widow  in 
comparison  with  me,  and  yet  Naomi  never  blamed 
her.  You  are  unfortunate  in  your  illustration.  But 
it  is  dreadfully  flippant  of  me  to  answer  you  like  this, 
for  you  have  been  kind.  But  why  will  you  provoke 
me ! ' 

'  Yes,  you  are  flippant,  Ethelberta.  You  are  too 
much  given  to  that  sort  of  thing.* 

*  Well,  I  don't  know  how  the  secret  of  my  name 
has  leaked  out ;  and  I  am  not  ribald,  or  anything  you 
say,'  said  Ethelberta,  with  a  sigh. 

*  Then  you  own  you  do  not  feel  so  ardent  as  you 
seem  in  your  book  ?  ' 

*  I  do  own  it.' 

*  And  that  you  are  sorry  your  name  has  been 
published  in  connection  with  it  ? ' 

'  I  am.' 

'  And  you  think  the  verses  may  tend  to  misrepresent 
your  character  as  a  gay  and  rapturous  one,  when  it  is 
not  ? ' 

85 


V 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  I  do  fear  it. 

*  Then,  of  course,  you  will  suppress  the  poems 
instantly.  That  is  the  only  way  in  which  you  can 
reL;ain  the  position  you  have  hitherto  held  with  me.* 

Ethelberta  said  nothing  ;  and  the  dull  winter 
atmosphere  had  far  from  light  enough  in  it  to  show  by 
her  face  what  she  might  be  thinking. 

'  Well  ?  '  said  Lady  Petherwin. 

'  I  did  not  expect  such  a  command  as  that,'  said 
Ethelberta.  '  I  have  been  obedient  for  nearly  four  years, 
and  would  continue  so — but  I  cannot  suppress  the 
poems.     They  are  not  mine  now  to  suppress.* 

*  You  must  get  them  into  your  hands.  Money  will 
do  it,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  I  suppose  it  would — a  thousand  pounds.' 
'Very  well  ;  the  money  shall  be  forthcoming,*  said 

Lady  Petherwin,  after  a  pause.  '  You  had  better  sit 
down  and  write  about  it  at  once.' 

*I  cannot  do  it,'  said  Ethelberta;  'and  I  will  not. 
I  don't  wish  them  to  be  suppressed.  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  them  ;  there  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of 
in  them ;  and  I  shall  not  take  any  steps  in  the 
matter.* 

'  Then  you  are  an  ungrateful  woman,  and  wanting 
in  natural  affection  for  the  dead !  Considering  your 
birth ' 

*  That's  an  intolerable ' 


Lady  Petherwin  crashed  out  of  the  room  in  a  wind 
of  indignation,  and  went  upstairs  and  heard  no  more. 
Adjoining  her  chamber  was  a  smaller  one  called  her 
study,  and,  on  reaching  this,  she  unlocked  a  cabinet, 
took  out  a  small  deed-box,  removed  from  it  a  folded 
packet,  unfolded  it,  crumpled  it  up,  and  turning  round 
suddenly  flung  it  into  the  fire.  Then  she  stood  and 
beheld  it  eaten  away  word  after  word  by  the  flames, 
'  Testament ' — '  all  that  freehold  ' — '  heirs  and  assigns ' 
appearing  occasionally  for  a  moment  only  to  disappear 
for  ever.  Nearly  half  the  document  had  turned  into  a 
glossy  black  when  the  lady  clasped  her  hands. 

86 


A  COMEDY  IX  CHAPTERS 

'What  have  I  done!'  she  exclaimed.  Springing 
to  the  tongs  she  seized  with  them  the  portion  of  the 
writing  yet  unconsumed,  and  dragged  it  out  of  the 
fire.      Ethelberta  appeared  at  the  door. 

*  Quick,  Ethelberta  ! '  said  Lady  Petherwin.  '  Help 
me  to  put  this  out ! '  And  the  two  women  went 
tramping  wildly  upon  the  document  and  smothering  it 
with  a  corner  of  the  hearth-ruof. 

'What  is  it?'  said  Ethelberta. 

'My  will!'  said  Lady  Petherwin.  *I  have  kept 
it  by  me  lately,  for  I  have  wished  to  look  over  it  at 
leisure ' 

'Good  heavens!*  said  Ethelberta.  'And  I  was 
just  coming  in  to  tell  you  that  I  would  always  cling  to 
you,  and  never  desert  you,  ill-use  me  how  you 
might ! ' 

'  Such  an  affectionate  remark  sounds  curious  at 
such  a  time,'  said  Lady  Petherwin,  sinking  down  in  a 
chair  at  the  end  of  the  struggle. 

'But,'  cried  Ethelberta,  'you  don't  suppose ' 

'  Selfishness,  my  dear,  has  given  me  such  crooked 
looks  that  I  can  see  it  round  a  corner.' 

'  If  you  mean  that  what  is  yours  to  give  may  not 
be  mine  to  take,  it  would  be  as  well  to  name  it  in  an 
impersonal  way,  if  you  must  name  it  at  all,'  said  the 
daughter-in-law,  with  wet  eyelids.  '  God  knows  I  had 
no  selfish  thought  in  saying  that.  I  came  upstairs  to 
ask  you  to  forgive  me,  and  knew  nothing  about  the 
will.      But  every  explanation  distorts  it  all  the  more  ! ' 

'  We  two  have  got  all  awry,  dear — it  cannot  be 
concealed — awry — awry.  Ah,  W'ho  shall  set  us  right 
again  ?  However,  now  I  must  send  for  Mr.  Chancerly 
— no,  I  am  going  out  on  other  business,  and  I  will  call 
upon  him.  There,  don't  spoil  your  eyes  :  you  may 
have  to  sell  them.' 

She  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  carriage  ;  and 
half-an-hour  later  Lady  Petherwin's  coachman  drove 
his  mistress  up  to  the  door  of  her  lawyer's  office  in 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 


SANDBOURNE  AND 

ITS  NEIGHBOURHOOD 
SOME  LONDON  STREETS 

XI 

While  this  was  going  on  in  town,  Christopher,  at 
his  lodgings  in  Sandbourne,  had  been  thrown  into 
rare  old  visions  and  dreams  by  the  appearance  of 
Ethelberta's  letter.  Flattered  and  encouraged  to 
ambition  as  well  as  to  love  by  her  inspiriting  sermon, 
he  put  off  now  the  last  remnant  of  cynical  doubt  upon 
the  genuineness  of  his  old  mistress,  and  once  and  for  all 
set  down  as  disloyal  a  belief  he  had  latterly  acquired 
that  '  Come,  woo  me,  woo  me  ;  for  I  am  like  enough  to 
consent,'  was  all  a  young  woman  had  to  tell. 

All  the  reasoning  of  political  and  social  economists 
would  not  have  convinced  Christopher  that  he  had  a 
better  chance  in  London  than  in  Sandbourne  of 
making  a  decent  income  by  reasonable  and  likely 
labour  ;  but  a  belief  in  a  far  more  improbable  proposi- 
tion, impetuously  expressed,  warmed  him  with  the 
idea  that  he  might  become  famous  there.  The  greater 
is  frequently  more  readily  credited  than  the  less,  and 
an  argument  which  will  not  convince  on  a  matter  of 
halfpence  appears  unanswerable  when  applied  to 
questions  of  glory  and  honour. 

The  regulation  wet  towel  and  strong  coffee  of  the 
ambitious  and  intellectual  student  floated  before  him 
in  visions  ;  but  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  he 

88 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

remembered  that  music,  in  spite  of  its  drawbacks  as 
a  means  of  sustenance,  was  a  profession  happily 
unencumbered  with  those  excruciating  preHminaries  to 
greatness. 

Christopher  talked  about  the  new  move  to  his 
sister,  and  he  was  vexed  that  her  hopefulness  was  not 
roused  to  quite  the  pitch  of  his  own.  As  with  others 
of  his  sort,  his  too  general  habit  of  accepting  the  most 
clouded  possibility  that  chances  offered  was  only 
transcended  by  his  readiness  to  kindle  with  a  fitful 
excitement  now  and  then.  Faith  was  much  more 
equable.  '  If  you  were  not  the  most  melancholy  man 
God  ever  created,'  she  said,  kindly  looking  at  his 
vague  deep  eyes  and  thin  face,  which  was  but  a  few 
degrees  too  refined  and  poetical  to  escape  the  epithet 
of  lantern-jawed  from  any  one  who  had  quarrelled 
with  him,  'you  would  not  mind  my  coolness  about 
this.  It  is  a  good  thing  of  course  to  go  ;  I  have 
always  fancied  that  we  were  mistaken  in  coming  here. 
Mediocrity  stamped  ''London"  fetches  more  than 
talent  marked  "provincial."  But  I  cannot  feel  so 
enthusiastic' 

'  Still,  if  we  are  to  go,  we  may  as  well  go  by 
enthusiasm  as  by  calculation  ;  it  is  a  sensation 
pleasanter  to  the  nerves,  and  leads  to  just  as  good  a 
result  when  there  is  only  one  result  possible.' 

'Very  well,'  said  Faith.  'I  will  not  depress  you. 
If  I  had  to  describe  you  I  should  say  you  were  a  child 
in  your  impulses,  and  an  old  man  in  your  reflections. 
Have  you  considered  when  we  shall  start  ?' 

'Yes.' 

*  What  have  vou  thought  ? ' 

'That  we  may  very  well  leave  the  place  in  six 
weeks  if  we  wish.' 

'  We  really  may  ?  * 

'  Yes.     And  what  is  more,  we  will.' 

Christopher  and  Faith  arrived  in  London  on  an 
afternoon  at  the  end  of  winter,  and  beheld  from 
one  of  the  river  bridges  snow-white  scrolls  of  steam 

89 


THE  HAxND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

from  the  tall  chimneys  of  Lambeth,  rising  against 
the  livid  sky  behind,  as  if  drawn  in  chalk  on  toned 
cardboard. 

The  first  thing  he  did  that  evening,  when  settled 
in  their  apartments  near  the  British  Museum,  before 
applying  himself  to  the  beginning  of  the  means  by 
which  success  in  life  might  be  attained,  was  to  go  out 
in  the  direction  of  Ethelberta's  door,  leaving  Faith 
unpacking  the  things,  and  sniffing  extraordinary 
smoke-smells  which  she  discovered  in  all  nooks  and 
crannies  of  the  rooms.  It  was  some  satisfaction  to  see 
Ethelberta's  house,  although  the  single  feature  in 
which  it  differed  from  the  other  houses  in  the  Crescent 
was  that  no  lamp  shone  from  the  fanlight  over  the 
entrance — a  speciality  which,  if  he  cared  for  omens, 
was  hardly  encouraging.  Fearing  to  linger  near  lest 
he  might  be  detected,  Christopher  stole  a  glimpse  at 
the  door  and  at  the  steps,  imagined  what  a  trifle  of 
the  depression  worn  in  each  step  her  feet  had  tended 
to  produce,  and  strolled  home  again. 

Feeling  that  his  reasons  for  calling  just  now  were 
scarcely  sufficient,  he  went  next  day  about  the  business 
that  had  brought  him  to  town,  which  referred  to  a 
situation  as  organist  in  a  large  church  in  the  north- 
west district.  The  post  was  half  ensured  already,  and 
he  intended  to  make  of  it  the  nucleus  of  a  professional 
occupation  and  income.  Then  he  sat  down  to  think 
of  the  preliminary  steps  towards  publishing  the  song 
that  had  so  pleased  her,  and  had  also,  as  far  as  he 
could  understand  from  her  letter,  hit  the  popular  taste 
very  successfully  ;  a  fact  which,  however  little  it  may 
say  for  the  virtues  of  the  song  as  a  composition,  was  a 
great  recommendation  to  it  as  a  property.  Christopher 
was  delighted  to  perceive  that  out  of  this  position  he 
could  frame  an  admissible,  if  not  an  unimpeachable, 
reason  for  calling  upon  Ethelberta.  He  determined 
to  do  so  at  once,  and  obtain  the  required  permission 
by  word  of  mouth. 

He  was  greatly  surprised,  when  the  front  of  the 

90 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

house  appeared  in  view  on  this  spring  afternoon,  to 
see  what  a  white  and  sightless  aspect  pervaded  all  the 
windows.  He  came  close  :  the  eyeball  blankness  was 
caused  by  all  the  shutters  and  blinds  being  shut  tight 
from  top  to  bottom.  Possibly  this  had  been  the  case 
for  some  time — he  could  not  tell.  In  one  of  the 
windows  was  a  card  bearing  the  announcement,  '  This 
House  to  be  let  Furnished.' 

Here  was  a  merciless  clash  between  fancy  and  fact 
Regretting  now  his  faint-heartedness  in  not  letting  her 
know  beforehand  by  some  means  that  he  was  about  to 
make  a  new  start  in  the  world,  and  coming  to  dwell 
near  her,  Christopher  rang  the  bell  to  make  inquiries. 
A  gloomy  caretaker  appeared  after  a  while,  and  the 
young  man  asked  whither  the  ladies  had  gone  to  live. 
He  was  beyond  measure  depressed  to  learn  that  they 
were  in  the  south  of  France — Aries,  the  man  thought 
the  place  was  called — the  time  of  their  return  to  town 
being  very  uncertain  ;  though  one  thing  was  clear, 
they  meant  to  miss  the  forthcoming  London  season 
altogether. 

As  Christopher's  hope  to  see  her  again  had  brought 
a  resolve  to  do  so,  so  now  resolve  led  to  dogged 
patience.  Instead  of  attempting  anything  by  letter, 
he  decided  to  wait ;  and  he  waited  well,  occupying 
himself  in  publishing  a  *  March  '  and  a  '  Morning  and 
Evening  Service  in  E  flat.'  Some  four-part  songs, 
too,  engaged  his  attention  when  the  heavier  duties  of 
the  day  were  over — these  duties  being  the  giving  of 
lessons  in  harmony  and  counterpoint,  in  which  he  was 
aided  by  the  introductions  of  a  man  well  known  in  the 
musical  world,  who  had  been  acquainted  with  young 
Julian  as  a  promising  amateur  long  before  he  adopted 
music  as  the  staff  of  his  pilgrim,age. 

It  was  the  end  of  summer  when  he  again  tried  his 

fortune  at  the  house  in  Exonburv  Crescent.     Scarcelv 

^  »■ 

calculating  upon  finding  her  at  this  stagnant  time  of 
the  town  year,  and  only  hoping  for  information,  Julian 
was   surprised   and  excited  to  see  the  shutters  open, 

91 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

and   the  house  wearing   altogether  a  living  look,  its 

neighbours  having  decidedly  died  off  meanwhile. 

'The  family  here,'  said  a  footman  in  answer  to  his 

inquiry,  'are  only  temporary  tenants  of  the  house.     It 

is  not  Lady  Petherwin's  people.' 

•  Do  you  know  the  Petherwins'  present  address  ?' 
'  Underground,   sir,    for    the    old    lady.  ^   She   died 

some  time  ago  in  Switzerland,  and  was  buried  there,  I 

believe.' 

'And    Mrs.    Petherwin  —  the    young    lady,'    said 

Christopher,  starting. 

'  We  are  not  acquainted  personally  with  the  family,' 
the  man  replied.  'My  master  has  only  taken  the 
house  for  a  few  months,  whilst  extensive  alterations 
are  being  made  in  his  own  on  the  other  side  of  the 
park,  which  he  goes  to  look  after  every  day.  If  you 
want  any  further  information  about  Lady  Petherwin, 
Mrs.  Petherwin  will  probably  give  it.  I  can  let  you 
have  her  address.' 

*  Ah,  yes  ;  thank  you,'  said  Christopher. 

The  footman  handed  him  one  of  some  cards  which 
appeared  to  have  been  left  for  the  purpose.  Julian, 
though  tremblingly  anxious  to  know  where  Ethelberta 
was.  did  not  look  at  it  till  he  could  take  a  cool  survey 
in  private.  The  address  was  '  Arrowthorne  Lodge, 
Upper  Wessex.' 

'  Dear  me ! '  said  Christopher  to  himself,  '  not  far 
from  Melchester ;  and  not  dreadfully  far  from  Sand- 
bourne.' 


ARROWTHORNE  PARK 

AND  LODGE 

XII 

Summer  was  just  over  when  Christopher  Julian  found 
himself  rattling  along  in  the  train  to  Sandbourne  on 
some  trifling  business  appertaining  to  his  late  father's 
affairs,  which  would  afford  him  an  excuse  for  calling 
at  Arrowthorne  about  the  song  of  hers  that  he  wished 
to  produce.  He  alighted  in  the  afternoon  at  a  little 
station  some  twenty  miles  short  of  Sandbourne,  and 
leaving  his  portmanteau  behind  him  there,  decided  to 
walk  across  the  fields,  obtain  if  possible  the  interview 
with  the  lady,  and  return  then  to  the  station  to  finish 
the  journey  to  Sandbourne,  which  he  could  thus  reach 
at  a  convenient  hour  in  the  evening,  and,  if  he  chose, 
take  leave  of  ao^aln  the  next  dav. 

It  was  an  afternoon  which  had  a  fungous  smell  out 
of  doors,  all  being  sunless  and  stagnant  overhead  and 
around.  The  various  species  of  trees  had  begun  to 
assume  the  more  distinctive  colours  of  their  decline, 
and  where  there  had  been  one  pervasive  green  were 
now  twenty  greenish  yellows,  the  air  in  the  vistas 
between  them  being  half  opaque  with  blue  exhalation. 
Christopher  in  his  walk  overtook  a  countryman,  and 
inquired  if  the  path  they  were  following  would  lead 
him  to  Arrowthorne  Lodge. 

''Twill  take  'ee  into  Arr'thorne  Park,*  the  man 
replied.  '  But  you  won't  come  anigh  the  Lodge,  unless 
you  bear  round  to  the  left  as  might  be.' 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'Mrs.  Pethervvin  lives  there,  I  believe?' 

*  No,  sir.  Leastwise  unless  she's  but  lately  come, 
I  have  never  heard  of  such  a  woman.' 

'  She  may  possibly  be  only  visiting  there.' 

*  Ah,  perhaps  that's  the  shape  o't.  Well,  now  you 
tell  o't,  I  have  seen  a  strange  face  thereabouts  once 
or  twice  lately.  A  young  good-looking  maid  enough, 
seemingly.* 

'  Yes,  she's  considered  a  very  handsome  lady.* 

*  I've  heard  the  woodmen  say,  now  that  you  tell  o't, 
that  they  meet  her  every  now  and  then,  just  at  the 
closing  in  of  the  day,  as  they  come  home  along  with 
their  nitches  of  sticks  ;  ay,  stalking  about  under  the 
trees  by  herself — a  tall  black  martel,  so  long-lei^ged 
and  awful-like  that  you'd  think  'twas  the  old  feller 
himself  a-coming,  they  say.  Now  a  woman  must  be  a 
queer  body  to  my  thinking,  to  roam  about  by  night 
so  lonesome  and  that  ?  Ay,  now  that  you  tell  o't, 
there  is  such  a  woman,  but  'a  never  have  showed  in 
the  parish  ;  sure  I  never  thought  who  the  body  was — 
no,  not  once  about  her,  nor  where  'a  was  living  and 
that — not  I,  till  you  spoke.  Well,  there,  sir,  that's 
Arr'thorne  Lodge  ;  do  you  see  they  three  elms.'^'  He 
pointed  across  the  glade  towards  some  confused  foliage 
a  long  way  off 

*  I  am  not  sure  about  the  sort  of  tree  you  mean,' 
said  Christopher,  *  I  see  a  number  of  trees  with  edges 
shaped  like  edges  of  clouds.' 

'  Ay,  ay,  they  be  oaks  ;  I  mean  the  elms  to  the 
left  hand.* 

*  But  a  man  can  hardly  tell  oaks  from  elms  at  that 
distance,  my  good  fellow  ! ' 

*  That  'a  can  very  well — leastwise,  if  he's  got  the 
sense.' 

'Well,  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean,*  said 
Christopher.     *  W^hat  next  ?  ' 

'  When  you  get  there,  you  bear  away  smart  to 
nor'-west,  and  you'll  come  straight  as  a  line  to  the 
Lodge.' 

94 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  How  the  deuce  am  I  to  know  which  Is  north-west 
in  a  strange  place,  with  no  sun  to  tell  me?' 

'  What,  not  know  nor'-west  ?  Well,  I  should  think 
a  boy  could  never  live  and  grow  up  to  be  a  man  with- 
out knowing  the  four  quarters.  I  knowed  'em  when  I 
was  a  mossel  of  a  chlel.  We  be  no  great  scholars  here, 
that's  true,  but  there  isn't  a  Tom-rig  or  Jack-straw  in 
these  parts  that  don't  know  where  they  lie  as  well  as  I. 
Now  I've  lived,  man  and  bov,  these  elcrht-and-sixty 
years,  and  never  met  a  man  in  my  life  afore  who  hadn't 
learnt  such  a  common  thing  as  the  four  quarters.' 

Christopher  parted  from  his  companion  and  soon 
reached  a  stile,  clambering  over  which  he  entered  a 
park.  Here  he  threaded  his  way,  and  rounding  a 
clump  of  aged  trees  the  young  man  came  in  view  of  a 
light  and  elegant  country-house  in  the  half-timbered 
Gothic  style  of  the  late  revival,  apparently  only  a  few 
years  old.  Surprised  at  finding  himself  so  near, 
Christopher's  heart  fluttered  unmanageably  till  he  had 
taken  an  abstract  view  of  his  position,  and,  in  Im- 
patience at  his  want  of  nerve,  adopted  a  sombre  train 
of  reasoning  to  convince  himself  that,  far  from 
indulgence  in  the  passion  of  love  bringing  bliss,  it  was 
a  folly,  leading  to  grief  and  disquiet — certainly  one 
W'hich  would  do  him  no  good.  Cooled  down  by  this, 
he  stepped  into  the  drive  and  went  up  to  the  house. 

'  Is  Mrs.  Petherwin  at  home?'  he  said  modestly. 

*  Who  did  you  say,  sir  ? ' 
He  repeated  the  name. 

*  Don't  know  the  person.' 

*  The  lady  may  be  a  visitor — I  call  on  business.' 

*  She  is  not  visitinof  in  this  house,  sir.' 

*  Is  not  this  Arrowthorne  Lodge? 

*  Certainly  not.' 

*  Then  where  is  Arrowthorne  Lodge,  please?* 
*\Vell,  it  is  nearly  a  mile  from  here.      Under  the 

trees  by  the  high-road.  If  you  go  across  by  that  foot- 
path it  will  bring  you  out  quicker  than  by  following 
the  bend  of  the  drive.' 

95 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Christopher  wondered  how  he  could  have  managed 
to  get  into  the  wrong  park  ;  but,  setting  it  down  to 
his  ignorance  of  the  difference  between  oak  and  elm, 
he  immediately  retraced  his  steps,  passing  across  the 
park  again,  through  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the  drive, 
and  into  the  turnpike  road.  No  other  gate,  park,  or 
country  seat  of  any  description  was  within  view. 

*  Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Arrowthorne  Lodge?' 
he  inquired  of  the  first  person  he  met,  who  was  a  little 

'  You  are  just  coming  away  from  it,  sir,*  said  she. 
*  I'll  show  you  ;   I  am  going  that  way.' 

They  walked  along  together.  Getting  abreast 
the  entrance  of  the  park  he  had  just  emerged  from,  the 
child  said,  *  There  it  is,  sir ;   I  live  there  too.* 

Christopher,  with  a  dazed  countenance,  looked 
towards  a  cottage  which  stood  nestling  in  the  shrubbery 
and  ivy  like  a  mushroom  among  grass.  *  Is  that 
Arrowthorne  Lodge  ? '  he  repeated. 

*  Yes,  and  if  you  go  up  the  drive,  you  come  to 
Arrowthorne  House.' 

'  Arrowthorne  Lodge — where  Mrs.  Petherwin  lives, 
I  mean.' 

'  Yes.  She  lives  there  along  wi'  mother  and  we. 
But  she  don't  want  anybody  to  know  it,  sir,  cause  she's 
celebrate,  and  'twouldn't  do  at  all.' 

Christopher  said  no  more,  and  the  little  girl  became 
interested  in  the  products  of  the  bank  and  ditch  by  the 
wayside.  He  left  her,  pushed  open  the  heavy  park- 
gate,  and  tapped  at  the  Lodge  door. 

The  latch  was  lifted.  *  Does  Mrs.  Petherwin,'  he 
began,  and,  determined  that  there  should  be  no  mistake, 
repeated,  *  Does  Mrs.  Ethelberta  Petherwin,  the 
poetess,  live  here  ?  *  turning  full  upon  the  person  who 
opened  the  door. 

*  She  does,  sir,'  said  a  faltering  voice ;  and  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  pupil-teacher  of 
Sandbourne. 

96 


THE  LODGE  {continued) 

THE  COPSE  BEHIND 

XIII 

*  This  is  indeed  a  surprise  ;  I — am  glad  to  see  you  ! ' 
Christopher  stammered,  with  a  wire-drawn,  radically 
different  smile  from  the  one  he  had  intended — a  smile 
not  without  a  tinge  of  ghastliness. 

*  Yes — I  am  home  for  the  holidays,'  said  the  blush- 
ing maiden  ;  and,  after  a  critical  pause,  she  added,  '  If 
you  wish  to  speak  to  my  sister,  she  is  in  the  plantation 
with  the  children.' 

'O  no — no,  thank  you — not  necessary  at  all,'  said 
Christopher,  in  haste.  *  I  only  wish  for  an  interview 
with  a  lady  called  Mrs.  Petherwin.' 

*  Yes  ;  Mrs.  Petherwin — my  sister,'  said  Picotee. 
'  She  is  in  the  plantation.  That  little  path  will  take 
you  to  her  in  five  minutes.* 

The  amazed  Christopher  persuaded  himself  that 
this  discovery  was  very  delightful,  and  went  on  per- 
suading so  long  that  at  last  he  felt  it  to  be  so. 
Unable,  like  many  other  people,  to  enjoy  being  satirized 
in  words  because  of  the  irritation  it  caused  him  as 
aimed-at  victim,  he  sometimes  had  philosophy  enough 
to  appreciate  a  satire  of  circumstance,  because  nobody 
intended  it.  Pursuing  the  path  indicated,  he  found 
himself  in  a  thicket  of  scrubby  undergrowth,  which 
covered  an  area  enclosed  from  the  park  proper  by  a 
decaying  fence.     The  boughs  were  so  tangled  that  he 

97 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

was  obliged  to  screen  his  face  with  his  hands,  to  escape 
the  risk  of  having  his  eyes  filliped  out  by  the  twigs 
that  impeded  his  progress.  Thus  slowly  advancing, 
his  ear  caught,  between  the  rustles,  the  tones  of  a 
voice  in  earnest  declamation  ;  and,  pushing  round  in 
that  direction,  he  beheld  through  some  beech  boughs 
an  open  space  about  ten  yards  in  diameter,  floored  at 
the  bottom  with  deep  beds  of  curled  old  leaves,  and 
cushions  of  furry  moss.  In  the  middle  of  this  natural 
theatre  was  the  stump  of  a  tree  that  had  been  felled 
by  a  saw,  and  upon  the  flat  stool  thus  formed  stood 
Ethelberta,  whom  Christopher  had  not  beheld  since 
the  ball  at  Wyndway  House. 

Round  her,  leaning  against  branches  or  prostrate 
on  the  ground,  were  five  or  six  individuals.  Two 
were  young  mechanics — one  of  them  evidently  a 
carpenter.  Then  there  was  a  boy  about  thirteen,  and 
two  or  three  younger  children.  Ethelberta's  appear- 
ance answered  as  fully  as  ever  to  that  of  an  English 
lady  skilfully  perfected  in  manner,  carriage,  look,  and 
accent ;  and  the  incongruity  of  her  present  position 
among  lives  which  had  had  many  of  Nature's  beauties 
stamped  out  of  them,  and  few  of  the  beauties  of  Art 
stamped  in,  brought  him,  as  a  second  feeling,  a  pride 
in  her  that  almost  equalled  his  first  sentiment  of 
surprise.  Christopher's  attention  was  meanwhile  at- 
tracted from  the  constitution  of  the  group  to  the  words 
of  the  speaker  in  the  centre  of  it — words  to  which  her 
auditors  were  listening  with  still  attention. 

It  appeared  to  Christopher  that  Ethelberta  had 
lately  been  undergoing  some  very  extraordinary  ex- 
periences. What  the  beginning  of  them  had  been  he 
could  not  in  the  least  understand,  but  the  portion  she 
was  describing  came  distinctly  to  his  ears,  and  he 
wondered  more  and  more. 

'  He  came  forward  till  he,  like  myself,  was  about 
twenty  yards  from  the  edge.  I  instinctively  grasped 
my  useless  stiletto.  How  I  longed  for  the  assistance 
which  a  little  earlier  I  had  so  much  despised !     Reach- 

98 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

ing  the  block  or  boulder  upon  which  I  had  been  sitting, 
he  clasped  his  arms  around  from  behind  ;  his  hands 
closed  upon  the  empty  seat,  and  he  jumped  up  with 
an  oath.  This  method  of  attack  told  me  a  new  thing 
with  Wretched  distinctness;  he  had,  as  I  suppose, 
discovered  my  sex  ;  male  attire  was  to  serve  my  turn 
no  longer.  The  next  instant,  indeed,  made  it  clear, 
for  he  exclaimed,  "  You  don't  escape  me,  masquerading 
madam,"  or  some  such  words,  and  came  on.  My  only 
hope  was  that  in  his  excitement  he  might  forget  to 
notice  where  the  grass  terminated  near  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  though  this  could  be  easily  felt  by  a  careful 
walker  :  to  make  my  own  feeling  more  distinct  on  this 
point  I  hastily  bared  my  feet.' 

The  listeners  moistened  their  lips,  Ethelberta  took 
breath,  and  then  went  on  to  describe  the  scene  that 
ensued,  *  A  dreadful  variation  on  the  game  of  Blind- 
man's  buff,'  being  the  words  by  which  she  character- 
ized it. 

Ethelberta's  manner  had  become  so  impassioned  at 
this  point  that  the  lips  of  her  audience  parted,  the 
children  clung  to  their  elders,  and  Christopher  could 
control  himself  no  longer.  He  thrust  aside  the  boughs, 
and  broke  in  upon  the  group. 

'  For  Heaven's  sake,  Ethelberta,'  he  exclaimed 
with  great  excitement,  '  where  did  you  meet  with  such 
a  terrible  experience  as  that  ?' 

The  children  shrieked,  as  if  they  thought  that  the 
interruption  was  in  some  way  the  catastrophe  of  the 
events  in  course  of  narration.  Every  one  started  up; 
the  two  young  mechanics  stared,  and  one  of  them 
inquired,  in  return,  '  What's  the  matter,  friend  ? ' 

Christopher  had  not  yet  made  reply  when  Ethel- 
berta stepped  from  her  pedestal  down  upon  the 
crackling  carpet  of  deep  leaves. 

'  Mr.  Julian  ! '  said  she,  in  a  serene  voice,  turning 
upon  him  eyes  of  such  a  disputable  stage  of  colour, 
between  brown  and  grey,  as  w^ould  have  commended 
itself  to  a  gallant  duellist  of  the  last  century  as  a  point 

99 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

on  which  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  take  some 
friend's  life  or  other.  But  the  calmness  was  artificially 
done,  and  the  astonishment  that  did  not  appear  in 
Ethelberta's  tones  was  expressed  by  her  gaze. 
Christopher  was  not  in  a  mood  to  draw  fine  dis- 
tinctions between  recognized  and  unrecognized  organs 
of  speech.      He  replied  to  the  eyes. 

*  I  own  that  your  surprise  is  natural,'  he  said,  with 
an  anxious  look  into  her  face,  as  if  he  wished  to  get 
beyond  this  interpolated  scene  to  something  more 
congenial  and  understood.  *  But  my  concern  at  such 
a  history  of  yourself  since  I  last  saw  you  is  even 
more  natural  than  your  surprise  at  my  manner  of 
breaking  in.' 

'  That  history  would  justify  any  conduct  in  one 
who  hears  it ' 

'  Yes,  indeed.' 

'  If  it  were  true,'  added  Ethelberta,  smiling.  *  But 
it  is  as  false  as — '  She  could  name  nothing  notoriously 
false  without  raising  an  image  of  what  was  disagree- 
able, and  she  continued  in  a  better  manner :  '  The 
story  I  was  telling  is  entirely  a  fiction,  which  I  am 
getting  up  for  a  particular  purpose — very  different 
from  what  appears  at  present.' 

'  I  am  sorry  there  was  such  a  misunderstanding,' 
Christopher  stammered,  looking  upon  the  ground 
uncertain  and  ashamed.  'Yet  I  am  not,  either,  for 
I  am  very  glad  you  have  not  undergone  such  trials,  of 
course.  But  the  fact  is,  I — being  in  the  neighbour- 
hood— I  ventured  to  call  on  a  matter  of  business, 
relating  to  a  poem  which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  setting 
to  music  at  the  beginning  of  the  year.' 

Ethelberta  was  only  a  little  less  ill  at  ease  than 
Christopher  showed  himself  to  be  by  this  way  of 
talking. 

'  Will  you  walk  slowly  on  ? '  she  said  gently  to  the 
two  young  men,  '  and  take  the  children  with  you  ;  this 
gentleman  wishes  to  speak  to  me  on  business.' 

The  biggest  young  man  caught  up  a  little   one 

100 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

under  his  arm,  and  plunged  amid  the  boughs  ;  another 
little  one  lingered  behind  for  a  few  moments  to  look 
shyly  at  Christopher,  with  an  oblique  manner  of  hiding 
her  mouth  against  her  shoulder  and  her  eyes  behind 
her  pinafore.  Then  she  vanished,  the  boy  and  the 
second  young  man  followed,  and  Ethelberta  and 
Christopher  stood  within  the  wood-bound  circle  alone. 
'  I  hope  I  have  caused  no  inconvenience  by  inter- 
rupting the  proceedings,'  said  Christopher  softly  ;  '  but 
I  so  very  much  wished  to  see  you ! ' 

*  Did  you,  indeed — really  wish  to  see  m?.  ? '  she 
said  gladly.  '  Never  mind  inconvenience  then  ;  it  ]s  a 
word  which  seems  shallow  in  meanmg  under  the 
circumstances.  I  surely  must  say  that  a  visit  is  to 
my  advantage,  must  I  not  ?  I  am  not  as  I  was,  you 
see,  and  may  receive  as  advantages  what  I  used  to 
consider  as  troubles.' 

*  Has  your  life  really  changed  so  much  ?' 

'  It  has  chanofed.  But  what  I  first  meant  was  that 
an  interesting  visitor  at  a  wrong  time  is  better  than  a 
stupid  one  at  a  right  time.' 

'  I  had  been  behind  the  trees  for  some  minutes, 
looking  at  you,  and  thinking  of  you  ;  but  what  you 
were  doing  rather  interrupted  my  first  meditation.  I 
had  thought  of  a  meeting  in  which  we  should  continue 
our  intercourse  at  the  point  at  which  it  was  broken  off 
years  ago,  as  if  the  omitted  part  had  not  existed  at  all ; 
but  something,  I  cannot  tell  what,  has  upset  all  that 
feeling,  and * 

'  I  can  soon  tell  you  the  meaning  of  my  extra- 
ordinary performance,'  Ethelberta  broke  in  quickly, 
and  with  a  little  trepidation.  '  My  mother-in-law, 
Lady  Petherwin,  is  dead ;  and  she  has  left  me  nothing 
but  her  house  and  furniture  in  London — more  than  1 
deserve,  but  less  than  she  had  distinctly  led  me  to 
expect ;  and  so  I  am  somewhat  in  a  corner.' 

'  It  is  always  so.' 

'  Not  always,  I  think.  But  this  is  how  it  happened. 
Lady  Petherwin  was  very  capricious  ;   when  she  was 

lOI 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

not  foolishly  kind  she  was  unjustly  harsh.  A  great 
many  are  like  it,  never  thinking  what  a  good  thing  it 
would  be,  instead  of  going  on  tacking  from  side  to  side 
between  favour  and  cruelty,  to  keep  to  a  mean  line  of 
common  justice.  And  so  we  quarrelled,  and  she,  being 
absolute  mistress  of  all  her  wealth,  destroyed  her  will 
that  was  in  my  favour,  and  made  another,  leaving  me 
nothing  but  the  fag-end  of  the  lease  of  the  town-house 
and  the  furniture  in  it.  Then,  when  we  were  abroad, 
she  turned  to  me  again,  forgave  everything,  and, 
becominor  i||  afterwards,  wrote  a  letter  to  the  brother, 
to  whom,  she  had  left  the  bulk  of  her  property,  statmg 
that  1  was  to  have  ^20,000  of  the  ^100,000  she  had 
bequeathed  to  him — as  in  the  original  will — doing 
this  by  letter  in  case  anything  should  happen  to  her 
before  a  new  will  could  be  considered,  drawn,  and 
signed,  and  trusting  to  his  honour  quite  that  he  would 
obey  her  expressed  wish  should  she  die  abroad.  Well, 
she  did  die,  in  the  full  persuasion  that  I  was 
provided  for ;  but  her  brother  (as  I  secretly  expected 
all  the  time)  refused  to  be  morally  bound  by  a  docu- 
ment which  had  no  legal  value,  and  the  result  is  that 
he  has  everything,  except,  of  course,  the  furniture  and 
the  lease.  It  would  have  been  enough  to  break  the 
heart  of  a  person  who  had  calculated  upon  getting  a 
fortune,  which  I  never  did  ;  for  I  felt  always  like  an 
intruder  and  a  bondswoman,  and  had  wished  myself 
out  of  the  Petherwin  family  a  hundred  times,  with  my 
crust  of  bread  and  liberty.  For  one  thing,  I  was 
always  forbidden  to  see  my  relatives,  and  it  pained  me 
much.  Now  I  am  going  to  move  for  myself,  and 
consider  that  I  have  a  good  chance  of  success  in  what 
I  may  undertake,  because  of  an  indifference  I  feel 
about  succeeding  which  gives  the  necessary  coolness 
that  any  great  task  requires.' 

'  I  presume  you  mean  to  write  more  poems  ? ' 
*  I    cannot — that    is,    I    can    write    no    more    that 
satisfy  me.     To  blossom  into  rhyme  on  the  sparkling 
pleasures  of  life,  you  must  be  under  the  influence  of 

102 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

those  pleasures,  and  I  am  at  present  quite  removed 
from  them — surrounded  by  gaunt  realities  of  a  very 
different  description.' 

'  Then  try  the  mournful.  Trade  upon  your  suffer- 
ings :  many  do,  and  thrive.' 

'  It  is  no  use  to  say  that — no  use  at  all.  I  cannot 
write  a  line  of  verse.  And  yet  the  others  flowed  from 
my  heart  like  a  stream.  But  nothing  is  so  easy  as  to 
seem  clever  when  you  have  money.' 

'  Except  to  seem  stupid  when  you  have  none,*  said 
Christopher,  looking  at  the  dead  leaves. 

Ethelberta  allowed  herself  to  lino-er  on  that  thoucrht 
for  a  few  seconds  ;  and  continued,  '  Then  the  question 
arose,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  felt  that  to  write  prose 
would  be  an  uncongenial  occupation,  and  altogether  a 
poor  prospect  for  a  woman  like  me.  Finally  I  have 
decided  to  appear  in  public' 

'  Not  on  the  staq^e  ? ' 

*  Certainly  not  on  the  stage.  There  is  no  novelty 
in  a  poor  lady  turning  actress,  and  novelty  is  what 
I  want.  Ordinary  powers  exhibited  in  a  new  way 
effect  as  much  as  extraordinary  powers  exhibited  in  an 
old  way.' 

'  Yes — so  they  do.  And  extraordinary  powers, 
and  a  new  wav  too,  would  be  irresistible.' 

'  I  don't  calculate  upon  both.  I  had  written  a  prose 
story  by  request,  when  it  was  found  that  I  had  grown 
utterly  inane  over  verse.  It  was  written  in  the  first 
person,  and  the  style  was  modelled  after  De  Foe's. 
The  night  before  sending  it  off,  when  I  had  already 
packed  it  up,  I  was  reading  about  the  professional 
story-tellers  of  Eastern  countries,  who  devoted  their 
lives  to  the  telling  of  tales.  I  unfastened  the  manu- 
script and  retained  it,  convinced  that  I  should  do 
better  by  telling  the  story.' 

'Well  thought  of!  '  exclaimed  Christopher,  looking 
into  her  face.  *  There  is  a  way  for  everybody  to  live, 
if  they  can  only  find  it  out.' 

'  It    occurred     to    me,'    she    continued,    blushing 

103 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

slightly,  '  that  tales  of  the  weird  kind  were  made  to  be 
told,  not  written.  The  action  of  a  teller  is  wanted  to 
give  due  effect  to  all  stories  of  incident ;  and  I  hope 
that  a  time  will  come  when,  as  of  old,  instead  of  an 
.  unsocial  reading  of  fiction  at  home  alone,  people  will 
meet  together  cordially,  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  a  pro- 
fessed romancer.  I  am  going  to  tell  my  tales  before  a 
London  public.  As  a  child,  I  had  a  considerable 
power  in  arresting  the  attention  of  other  children 
by  recounting  adventures  which  had  never  happened  ; 
and  men  and  women  are  but  children  enlarged  a  little. 
Look  at  this.' 

She  drew  from  her  pocket  a  folded  paper,  shook  it 
abroad,  and  disclosed  a  rough  draft  of  an  announce- 
ment to  the  effect  that  Mrs.  Petherwin,  Professed 
Story-teller,  would  devote  an  evening  to  that  ancient 
form  of  the  romancer's  art,  at  a  well-known  fashionable 
hall  in  London.  'Now  you  see,'  she  continued,  'the 
meaning  of  what  you  observed  going  on  here.  That 
you  heard  was  one  of  three  tales  I  am  preparing,  with 
a  view  of  selecting  the  best.  As  a  reserved  one,  I 
have  the  tale  of  my  own  life — to  be  played  as  a  last 
card.  It  was  a  private  rehearsal  before  my  brothers 
and  sisters — not  with  any  view  of  obtaining  their 
criticism,  but  that  I  might  become  accustomed  to  my 
own  voice  in  the  presence  of  listeners.' 

'  If  I  only  had  had  half  your  enterprise,  what  I 
might  have  done  in  the  world  ! ' 

'  Now  did  you  ever  consider  what  a  power 
De  Foe's  manner  would  have  if  practised  by  word  of 
mouth  ?  Indeed,  it  is  a  style  which  suits  itself  infinitely 
better  to  telling  than  to  writing,  abounding  as  it  does 
in  colloquialisms  that  are  somewhat  out  of  place  on 
paper  in  these  days,  but  have  a  wonderful  power  in 
making  a  narrative  seem  real.  And  so,  in  short,  I  am 
going  to  talk  De  Foe  on  a  subject  of  my  own.     Well  ?  ' 

The  last  word  had  been  given  tenderly,  with  a 
long-drawn  sweetness,  and  was  caused  by  a  look  that 
Christopher  was  bending  upon  her  at  the  moment,  in 

104 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

which  he  revealed  that  he  was  thinking  less  of  the 
subject  she  was  so  eagerly  and  hopefully  descanting 
upon  than  upon  her  aspect  in  explaining  it.  It  is  a 
fault  of  manner  particularly  common  among  men 
newly  imported  into  the  society  of  bright  and  beautiful 
women  ;  and  we  will  hope  that,  springing  as  it  does 
from  no  unworthy  source,  it  is  as  soon  forgiven  in  the 
general  world  as  it  was  here. 

'  I  was  only  following  a  thought,'  said  Christopher  : 
— *  a  thought  of  how  I  used  to  know  you,  and  then 
lost  sight  of  you,  and  then  discovered  you  famous,  and 
how  we  are  here  under  these  sad  autumn  trees,  and 
nobody  in  sight.' 

*  I  think  it  must  be  tea-time,'  she  said  suddenly. 
*  Tea  is  a  great  meal  with  us  here — you  will  join  us, 
will  you  not  ?  '  And  Ethelberta  began  to  make  for 
herself  a  passage  through  the  boughs.  Another  rustle 
was  heard  a  little  way  off,  and  one  of  the  children 
appeared. 

*  Emmeline  wants  to  know,  please,  if  the  gentle- 
man that  come  to  see  'ee  will  stay  to  tea  ;  because,  if 
so,  she's  agoing  to  put  in  another  spoonful  for  him 
and  a  bit  of  best  green.' 

*  O  Georgina — how  candid !  Yes,  put  in  some 
best  green.* 

Before  Christopher  could  say  any  more  to  her, 
they  were  emerging  by  the  corner  of  the  cottage,  and 
one  of  the  brothers  drew  near  them.  '  Mr.  Julian, 
you'll  bide  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  wi'  us  ? '  he  inquired 
of  Christopher.  '  A'  old  friend  of  yours,  is  he  not, 
Mrs.  Petherwin  ?  Dan  and  I  be  going  back  to  Sand- 
bourne  to-night,  and  we  can  walk  with  'ee  as  far  as  the 
station.' 

*  I  shall  be  delighted,'  said  Christopher ;  and  they 
all  entered  the  cottage.  The  evening  had  grown 
clearer  by  this  time  ;  the  sun  was  peeping  out  just 
previous  to  departure,  and  sent  gold  wires  of  light 
across  the  glades  and  into  the  windows,  throwing  a 
pattern  of  the  diamond  quarries,  and  outlines  of  the 

105 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

geraniums  in  pots,  against  the  opposite  wall.  One  end 
of  the  room  was  polygonal,  such  a  shape  being  dictated 
by  the  exterior  design  ;  in  this  part  the  windows  were 
placed  as  at  the  east  end  of  continental  churches. 
Thus,  from  the  combined  effects  of  the  ecclesiastical 
lancet  lights  and  the  apsidal  shape  of  the  room,  it 
occurred  to  Christopher  that  the  sisters  were  all  a 
delightful  set  of  pretty  saints,  exhibiting  themselves  in 
a  lady  chapel,  and  backed  up  by  unkempt  major  pro- 
phets, as  represented  by  the  forms  of  their  big 
brothers. 

Christopher  sat  down  to  tea  as  invited,  squeezing 
himself  in  between  two  children  whose  names  were 
almost  as  long  as  their  persons,  and  whose  tin  cups 
discoursed  primitive  music  by  means  of  spoons  rattled 
inside  them  until  they  were  filled.  The  tea  proceeded 
pleasantly,  notwithstanding  that  the  cake,  being  a  little 
burnt,  tasted  on  the  outside  like  the  latter  plums  in 
snapdragon.  Christopher  never  could  meet  the  eye 
of  Picotee,  who  continued  in  a  wild  state  of  flushing 
all  the  time,  fixing  her  looks  upon  the  sugar-basin, 
except  when  she  glanced  out  of  the  window  to  see  how 
the  evening  was  going  on,  and  speaking  no  word  at  all 
unless  it  was  to  correct  a  small  sister  of  somewhat 
crude  manners  as  regards  filling  the  mouth,  which 
Picotee  did  in  a  whisper,  and  a  gentle  inclination  of 
her  mouth  to  the  little  one's  ear,  and  a  still  deeper 
blush  than  before. 

Their  visitor  next  noticed  that  an  additional  cup- 
and-saucer  and  plate  made  their  appearance  occasion- 
ally at  the  table,  were  silently  replenished,  and  then 
carried  off  by  one  of  the  children  to  an  inner  apart- 
ment. 

'  Our  mother  is  bedridden,'  said  Ethelberta, 
noticing  Christopher's  look  at  the  proceeding. 
'Emmeline  attends  to  the  household,  except  when 
Picotee  is  at  home,  and  Joey  attends  to  the  gate  ;  but 
our  mother's  affliction  is  a  very  unfortunate  thing  for 
the  poor  children.      We  are  thinking  of  a  plan  of  living 

io6 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

which  will,  I  hope,  be  more  convenient  than  this  is; 
but  we  have  not  yet  decided  what  to  do.' 

At  this  minute  a  carriage  and  pair  of  horses 
became  visible  through  one  of  the  angular  windows  of 
the  apse,  in  the  act  of  turning  in  from  the  highway 
towards  the  park  gate.  The  boy  who  answered  to 
the  name  of  Joey  sprang  up  from  the  table  with  the 
promptness  of  a  Jack-in-the-box,  and  ran  out  at  the 
door.  Everybody  turned  as  the  carriage  passed 
through  the  gate,  which  Joey  held  open,  putting  his 
other  hand  where  the  brim  of  his  hat  would  have  been 
if  he  had  worn  one,  and  lapsing  into  a  careless  boy 
again  the  instant  that  the  vehicle  had  gone  by. 

'  There's  a  tremendous  large  dinner-party  at  the 
House  to-night,'  said  Emmeline  methodically,  looking 
at  the  equipage  over  the  edge  of  her  teacup,  without 
leaving  off  sipping.  '  That  was  Lord  Mountclere. 
He's  a  wicked  old  man,  they  say.' 

'  Lord    Mountclere  ? '   said    Ethelberta    musingly. 

*  I  used  to  know  some  friends  of  his.  In  what  way  is 
he  wicked  ? ' 

'  I    don't  know,'   said    Emmeline,  with   simplicity. 

*  I  suppose  it  is  because  he  breaks  the  commandments. 
But  I  wonder  how  a  big  rich  lord  can  want  to  steal 
anything.'  Emmeline's  thoughts  of  breaking  com- 
mandments instinctively  fell  upon  the  eighth,  as  being 
in  her  ideas  the  only  case  wherein  the  gain  could  be 
considered  as  at  all  worth  the  hazard. 

Ethelberta  said  nothing  ;  but  Christopher  thought 
that  a  shade  of  depression  passed  over  her. 

'  Hook  back  the  gate,  Joey,'  shouted  Emmeline, 
when    the    carriage    had    proceeded    up    the    drive. 

*  There's  more  to  come.' 

Joey  did  as  ordered,  and  by  the  time  he  got 
indoors  another  carriage  turned  in  from  the  public 
road — a  one-horse  brougham  this  time. 

'  I  know  who  that  is  :  that's  Mr.  Ladywell,'  said 
Emmeline,  in  the  same  matter-of-fact  tone.  *  He's 
been  here  afore  :  he's  a  distant  relation  of  the  squire's, 

107 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

and  he  once  gave  me  sixpence  for  picking  up  his 
gloves.' 

'What  shall  I  live  to  see  ?'  murmured  the  poetess, 
under  her  breath,  nearly  dropping  her  teacup  in  an 
involuntary  trepidation,  from  which  she  made  it  a 
point  of  dignity  to  recover  in  a  moment.  Christopher's 
eyes,  at  that  exhibition  from  Ethelberta,  entered  her 
own  like  a  pair  of  lances.  Picotee,  seeing  Chris- 
topher's quick  look  of  jealousy,  became  involved  in 
her  turn,  and  grew  pale  as  a  lily  in  her  endeavours  to 
conceal  the  complications  to  which  it  gave  birth  in  her 
poor  little  breast  likewise. 

'  You  judge  me  very  wrongly,'  said  Ethelberta,  in 
answer  to  Christopher's  hasty  look  of  resentment. 

*  In  supposing  Mr.  Lady  well  to  be  a  great  friend  of 
yours  ? '  said  Christopher,  who  had  in  some  indescrib- 
able way  suddenly  assumed  a  right  to  Ethelberta  as 
his  old  property. 

*  Yes  :  for  I  hardly  know  him,  and  certainly  do 
not  value  him.' 

After  this  there  was  something  in  the  mutual  look 
of  the  two,  though  their  words  had  been  private, 
which  did  not  tend  to  remove  the  anguish  of  fragile 
Picotee.  Christopher,  assured  that  Ethelberta's  em- 
barrassment had  been  caused  by  nothing  more  than 
the  sense  of  her  odd  social  subsidence,  recovered  more 
bliss  than  he  had  lost,  and  regarded  calmly  the  profile 
of  young  Ladywell  between  the  two  windows  of  his 
brougham  as  it  passed  the  open  cottage  door,  bearing 
him  along  unconscious  as  the  dead  of  the  nearness  of 
his  beloved  one,  and  of  the  sad  buffoonery  that  fate, 
fortune,  and  the  guardian  angels  had  been  playing 
with  Ethelberta  of  late.  He  recognized  the  face  as 
that  of  the  young  man  whom  he  had  encountered  when 
watching  Ethelberta's  window  from  Rookington  Park. 

*  Perhaps  you  remember  seeing  him  at  the 
Christmas  dance  at  Wyndway.'^'  she  inquired.  *  He 
is  a  good-natured  fellow.  Afterwards  he  sent  me  that 
portfolio  of  sketches  you  see  in  the  corner.     He  might 

io8 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

possibly  do  something  In  the  world  as  a  painter  If  he 
were  obh'ged  to  work  at  the  art  for  his  bread,  which 
he  Is  not'  She  added  with  bitter  pleasantry:  *In 
bare  mercy  to  his  self-respect  I  must  remain  unseen 
here.' 

It  Impressed  Christopher  to  perceive  how,  under 
the  estrangement  which  arose  from  differences  of 
education,  surroundings,  experience,  and  talent,  the 
sympathies  of  close  relationship  were  perceptible  In 
Ethelberta's  bearing  towards  her  brothers  and  sisters. 
At  a  remark  upon  some  simple  pleasure  wherein  she 
had  not  participated  because  absent  and  occupied  by 
far  more  comprehensive  Interests,  a  gloom  as  of 
banishment  would  cross  her  face  and  dim  It  for  awhile, 
showing  that  the  free  habits  and  enthusiasms  of 
country  life  had  still  their  charm  with  her,  In  the  face 
of  the  subtler  gratifications  of  abridged  bodices,  candle- 
light, and  no  feelings  in  particular,  which  prevailed  In 
town.  Perhaps  the  one  condition  which  could  work 
up  Into  a  permanent  feeling  the  passing  revival  of  his 
fancy  for  a  woman  whose  chief  attribute  he  had 
supposed  to  be  sprightllness  was  added  now  by  the 
romantic  ubiquity  of  station  that  attached  to  her.  A 
discovery  which  might  have  grated  on  the  senses  of  a 
man  wedded  to  conventionality  was  a  positive  pleasure 
to  one  whose  faith  In  society  had  departed  with  his 
own  social  ruin. 

The  room  began  to  darken,  whereupon  Christopher 
arose  to  leave  ;  and  the  brothers  Sol  and  Dan  offered 
to  accompany  him. 


A  TURNPIKE  ROAD 
XIV 

*  We  be  thinking  of  coming  to  London  ourselves  soon,' 
said  Sol,  a  carpenter  and  joiner  by  trade,  as  he  walked 
along  at  Christopher  s  lelt  hand.  *  There's  so  much 
more  chance  for  a  man  up  the  country.  Now,  if 
you  was  me,  how  should  you  set  about  getting  a  job, 

sir  ? ' 

*  What  can  you  do  ?  '  said  Christopher. 

'  Well,  I  am  a  very  good  staircase  hand  ;  and  I 
have  been  called  neat  at  sash-frames  ;  and  I  can 
knock  together  doors  and  shutters  very  well  ;  and  I 
can  do  a  little  at  the  cabinet-making.  I  don't  mind 
framing  a  roof,  neither,  if  the  rest  be  busy  ;  and  I  am 
always  ready  to  fill  up  my  time  at  planing  floor-boards 
by  the  foot.' 

'And  I  can  mix  and  lay  flat  tints,'  said  Dan,  who 
was  a  house  painter,  '  and  pick  out  mouldings,  and 
grain  in  every  kind  of  wood  you  can  mention — oak, 
maple,  walnut,  satinwood,  cherry-tree ' 

'  You  can  both  do  too  much  to  stand  the  least 
chance  of  being  allowed  to  do  anything  in  a  city, 
where  limitation  is  all  the  rule  in  labour.  To  have 
any  success,  Sol,  you  must  be  a  man  who  can 
thoroughly  look  at  a  door  to  see  what  ought  to  be  done 
to  it,  but  as  to  looking  at  a  window,  that's  not  your 
line ;  or  a  person  who,  to  the  remotest  particular, 
understands  turning  a  screw,  but  who  does  not  profess 
any  knowledge  of   how  to    drive  a  nail.      Dan    must 

I  10 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

know  how  to  paint  blue  to  a  marvel,  but  must  be 
quite  in  the  dark  about  painting  green.  If  you  stick 
to  some  such  principle  of  specialty  as  this,  you  may 
get  employment  in  London.' 

'  Ha-ha-ha!' said  Dan,  striking  at  a  stone  in  the 
road  with  the  stout  green  hazel  he  carried.  '  A  wink 
is  as    good  as   a  nod  :    thankee — we'll  mind  all   that 

now.' 

'If  we  do  come,'  said  Sol,  *  we  shall  not  mix  up 
with  Mrs.  Petherwin  at  all.' 

*  O  indeed  ! ' 

*0  no.  (Perhaps  you  think  it  odd  that  we  call 
her  ''Mrs.  Petherwin,"  but  that's  by  agreement  as 
safer  and  better  than  Berta,  because  we  be  such 
rough  chaps  you  see,  and  she's  so  lofty.)  'Twould 
demean  her  to  claim  kin  wi'  her  in  London — two 
journeymen  like  us,  that  know  nothing  besides  our 
trades.' 

'  Not  at  all,'  said  Christopher,  by  way  of  chiming 
in  in  the  friendliest  manner.  '  She  would  be  pleased 
to  see  any  straightforward  honest  man  and  brother,  I 
should  think,  notwithstanding  that  she  has  moved  in 
other  society  for  a  time.' 

'  Ah,  you  don't  know  Berta !  *  said  Dan,  looking  as 
if  he  did. 

*  How — in  what  way  do  you  mean?*  said  Chris- 
topher uneasily. 

*  So  lofty — so  very  lofty  !  Isn't  she,  Sol  ?  Why 
she'll  never  stir  out  from  mother's  till  after  dark,  and 
then  her  day  begins  ;  and  she'll  traipse  about  under 
the  trees,  and  never  go  into  the  high-road,  so  that 
nobody  in  the  way  of  gentle-people  shall  run  up 
against  her  and  know  her  living  in  such  a  little  small 
hut  after  biding  in  a  big  mansion-place.  There,  we 
don't  find  fault  wi'  her  about  it :  we  like  her  just  tlie 
same,  though  she  don't  speak  to  us  in  the  street ;  for 
a  feller  must  be  a  fool  to  make  a  piece  of  work  about 
a  woman's  pride,  when  'tis  his  own  sister,  and  hang 
upon  her  and   bother  her  when  he  knows  'tis  for  her 

1 1 1 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

good  that  he  should  not.  Yes,  her  Hfe  has  been  quare 
enough.  I  hope  she  enjoys  it,  but  for  my  part  I  Hke 
plain  sailing.  None  of  your  ups  and  downs  for  me. 
There,  I  suppose  'twas  her  nater  to  want  to  look  into 
the  world  a  bit.' 

*  Father  and  mother  kept  Berta  to  school,  you 
understand,  sir,'  explained  the  more  thoughtful  Sol, 
*  because  she  was  such  a  quick  child,  and  they  always 
had  a  notion  of  making  a  governess  of  her.  Sums.f^ 
If  you  said  to  that  child,  '*  Berta,  'levenpence-three- 
farthings  a  day,  how  much  a  year  ?  "  she  would  tell  'ee 
in  three  seconds  out  of  her  own  little  head.  And  that 
hard  sum  about  the  herrings  she  had  done  afore  she 
was  nine.' 

'  True,  she  had,*  said  Dan.  *  And  we  all  know  that 
to  do  that  is  to  do  something  that's  no  nonsense.' 

'  What  is  the  sum  .'* '  Christopher  inquired. 

'What — not  know  the  sum  about  the  herrings?' 
said  Dan,  spreading  his  gaze  all  over  Christopher  in 
amazement. 

'  Never  heard  of  it,'  said  Christopher. 

*  Why  down  in  these  parts  just  as  you  try  a  man's 
soul  by  the  Ten  Commandments,  you  try  his  head  by 
that  there  sum — hey,  Sol  ?  ' 

*Ay,  that  we  do.' 

*  A  herring  and  a  half  for  three-halfpence,  how 
many  can  ye  get  for  'levenpence :  that's  the  feller  ; 
and  a  mortal  teaser  he  is,  I  assure  'ee.  Our  parson, 
who's  not  altogether  without  sense  o'  week  days,  said 
one  afternoon,  "If  cunning  can  be  found  in  the 
multiplication  table  at  all,  Chickerel,  'tis  in  connection 
with  that  sum."  Well,  Berta  was  so  clever  in 
arithmetic  that  sh-e  was  asked  to  teach  summing  at 
Miss  Courtley's,  and  there  she  got  to  like  foreign 
tongues  more  than  ciphering,  and  at  last  she  hated 
ciphering,  and  took  to  books  entirely.  Mother  and 
we  were  very  proud  of  her  at  that  time  :  not  that  we 
be  stuck-up  people  at  all — be  we,  Sol  ?  ' 

*  Not   at   all ;    nobody  can   say  that  we  be  that, 

112 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

though  there's  more  of  it  in  the  country  than   there 
should  be  by  all  account.' 

*  You'd  be  surprised  to  see  how  vain  the  girls 
about  here  be  getting.  Little  rascals,  why  they  won't 
curtsey  to  the  loftiest  lady  in  the  land  ;  no,  not  if 
you  were  to  pay  'em  to  do  it.  Now,  the  men  be 
different.  Any  man  will  touch  his  hat  for  a  pint  of 
beer.  But  then,  of  course,  there's  some  difference 
between  the  two.  Touching  your  hat  is  a  good  deal 
less  to  do  than  bendinor  vour  knees,  as  Berta  used  to 
say,  when  she  was  blowed  up  for  not  doing  it.  She 
was  always  one  of  the  independent  sort — you  never 
saw  such  a  maid  as  she  was  !  Now,  Picotee  was  quite 
the  other  way.' 

*  Has  Picotee  left  Sandbourne  entirely?* 

*  O  no  ;  she  is  home  for  the  holidays.  Well,  Mr. 
Julian,  our  road  parts  from  yours  just  here,  unless  you 
walk  into  the  next  town  along  with  us.  But  I  suppose 
you  get  across  to  this  station  and  go  by  rail  ?' 

'  I  am  obliged  to  go  that  way  for  my  portmanteau,' 
said  Christopher,  '  or  I  should  have  been  pleased  to 
walk  further.  Shall  I  see  you  in  Sandbourne  to- 
morrow ?     I  hope  so.' 

'  Well,  no.  'Tis  hardly  likely  that  you  will  see  us 
— hardly.  We  know  how  unpleasant  it  is  for  a  high 
sort  of  man  to  have  rough  chaps  like  us  hailing  him, 
so  we  think  it  best  not  to  meet  you — thank  you  all  the 
same.  So  if  you  should  run  up  against  us  in  the 
street,  we  should  be  just  as  well  pleased  by  your  taking 
no  notice,  if  you  wouldn't  mind.  'Twill  save  so  much 
awkwardness — being  in  our  working  clothes.  'Tis 
always  the  plan  that  Mrs.  Petherwin  and  we  agree 
to  act  upon,  and  we  find  it  best  for  both.  I  hope 
you  take  our  meaning  right,  and  as  no  offence,  Mr. 
Julian.' 

'And  do  you  do  the  same  with  Picotee?' 

*  O  Lord,  no — 'tisn't  a  bit  of  use  to  try.  That's 
the  worst  of  Picotee — there's  no  getting  rid  of  her. 
The  more  in  the  rough  we  be  the  more  she'll  stick  to 

113 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

us ;  and  if  we  say  she  shan't  come,  she'll  bide  and  fret 
about  it  till  we  be  forced  to  let  her.' 

Christopher  laughed,  and  promised,  on  condition 
that  they  would  retract  the  statement  about  their  not 
being  proud;  and  then  he  wished  his  friends  good- 
night. 


AN  INNER  ROOM 

AT  THE  LODGE 

XV 

At  the  Lodge  at  this  time  a  discussion  of  some 
importance  was  in  progress.  The  scene  was  Mrs. 
Chickerel's  bedroom,  to  which,  unfortunately,  she  was 
confined  by  some  spinal  complaint  ;  and  here  she  now 
appeared  as  an  interesting  woman  of  five-and-forty, 
properly  dressed  as  far  as  visible,  and  propped  up  in  a 
bed  covered  with  a  quilt  which  presented  a  field  of 
little  squares  in  many  tints,  looking  altogether  like  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  a  market  garden. 

Mrs.  Chickerel  had  been  nurse  in  a  nobleman's 
family  until  her  marriage,  and  after  that  she  played 
the  part  of  wife  and  mother,  upon  the  whole,  affection- 
ately and  well.  Among  her  minor  differences  with 
her  husband  had  been  one  about  the  naming  of  the 
children  ;  a  matter  that  was  at  last  compromised  by  an 
agreement  under  which  the  choice  of  the  girls'  names 
became  her  prerogative,  and  that  of  the  boys'  her 
husband's,  who  limited  his  field  of  selection  to  strict 
historical  precedent  as  a  set-off  to  Mrs.  Chickerel's 
tendency  to  stray  into  the  regions  of  romance. 

The  only  grown-up  daughters  at  home,  Ethelberta 
and  Picotee,  with  their  brother  Joey,  were  sittin^r  near 
her ;  the  two  youngest  children,  Georgina  and  Myrtle, 
who  had  been  strutting  in  and  out  of  the  room,  and 
otherwise  endeavouring  to  walk,  talk,  and  speak  like 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  gentleman  just  gone  away,  were  packed  off  to  bed. 
Emmeline,  of  that  transitional  age  which  causes  its 
exponent  to  look  wistfully  at  the  sitters  when  romping 
and  at  the  rompers  when  sitting,  uncertain  whether 
her  position  in  the  household  is  that  of  child  or  woman, 
was  idling  in  a  corner.  The  two  absent  brothers  and 
two  absent  sisters — eldest  members  of  the  family — 
completed  the  round  ten  whom  Mrs.  Chickerel  with 
thoughtless  readiness  had  presented  to  a  crowded 
world,  to  cost  Ethelberta  many  wakeful  hours  at  night 
while  she  revolved  schemes  how  they  might  be 
decentlv  maintained. 

*I  still  think,'  Ethelberta  was  saying,  'that  the 
plan  I  first  proposed  is  the  best.  I  am  convinced 
that  it  will  not  do  to  attempt  to  keep  on  the  Lodge. 
If  we  are  all  together  in  town,  I  can  look  after  you 
much  better  than  when  you  are  far  away  from  me 
down  here.' 

'  Shall  we  not  interfere  with  you — your  plans  for 
keeping  up  your  connections?'  inquired  her  mother, 
glancing  up  towards  Ethelberta  by  lifting  the  flesh 
of  her  forehead,  instead  of  troubling  to  raise  her  face 
altogether. 

*  Not  nearly  so  much  as  by  staying  here.' 

'  But,'  said  Picotee,  '  if  you  let  lodgings,  won't  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  know  it  .'^ ' 

'  I  have  thought  of  that,'  said  Ethelberta,  'and  this 
is  how  I  shall  manage.  In  the  first  place,  if  mother  is 
there,  the  lodgings  can  be  let  in  her  name,  all  bills  will 
be  receipted  by  her,  and  all  tradesmen's  orders  will  be 
given  as  from  herself.  Then,  we  will  take  no  English 
lodgers  at  all ;  we  will  advertise  the  rooms  only  in 
Continental  newspapers,  as  suitable  for  a  French  or 
German  gentleman  or  two,  and  by  this  means  there 
will  be  little  danger  of  my  acquaintance  discovering 
that  my  house  is  not  entirely  a  private  one,  or  of  any 
lodger  being  a  friend  of  my  acquaintance.  I  have 
thought  over  every  possible  way  of  combining  the 
dignified  social  position  I  must  maintain  to  make  my 

ii6 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

story- telling  attractive,  with  my  absolute  lack  of 
money,  and  I  can  see  no  better  one.' 

'  Then  if  Gwendoline  is  to  be  your  cook,  she  must 
soon  give  notice  at  her  present  place  ?  * 

'  Yes.  Everything  depends  upon  Gwendoline  and 
Cornelia.  But  there  is  time  enoug^h  for  them  to  crive 
notice  —  Christmas  will  be  soon  enough.  If  they 
cannot  or  will  not  come  as  cook  and  housemaid,  I  am 
afraid  the  plan  will  break  down.  A  vital  condition  is 
that  I  do  not  have  a  soul  in  the  house  (beyond  the 
lodgers)  who  is  not  one  of  my  own  relations.  When 
we  have  put  Joey  into  buttons,  he  will  do  very  well  to 
attend  to  the  door.* 

'  But  s'pose,'  said  Joey,  after  a  glassy  look  at  his 
future  appearance  in  the  position  alluded  to,  *  that  any 
of  your  gentlepeople  come  to  see  ye,  and  w^hen  I 
opens  the  door  and  lets  'em  in  a  swinging  big  lodger 
stalks  downstairs.  What  will  'em  think  ?  Up  will  go 
their  eye-glasses  at  one  another  till  they  glares  each 
other  into  holes.      My  gracious  ! ' 

*  The  one  w^ho  calls  will  only  think  that  another 
visitor  is  leaving,  Joey.  But  I  shall  have  no  visitors, 
or  very  few.  I  shall  let  it  be  well  known  among  my 
late  friends  that  my  mother  is  an  invalid,  and  that  on 
this  account  we  receive  none  but  the  most  intimate 
friends.  These  intimate  friends  not  existing,  we 
receive  nobody  at  all.' 

'  Except  Sol  and  Dan,  if  they  get  a  job  in  London  ? 
They'll  have  to  call  upon  us  at  the  back  door,  won't 
they,  Berta?'  said  Joey. 

'  They  must  go  down  the  area  steps.  But  they  will 
not  mind  that ;  they  like  the  idea.' 

*  And  father,  too,  must  he  go  down  the  steps  ?  * 

*  He  may  come  whichever  way  he  likes.  He  will 
be  glad  enough  to  have  us  near  at  any  price.  I  know 
that  he  is  not  at  all  happy  at  leaving  you  down  here, 
and  he  away  in  London.  You  remember  that  he  has 
only  taken  the  situation  at  Mr.  Doncastle's  on  the 
supposition  that  you  all  come  to  town  as  soon  as  he 

117 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

can  see  an  opening  for  getting  you  there ;  and  as 
nothing  of  the  sort  has  offered  itself  to  him,  this  will 
be  the  very  thing.  Of  course,  if  I  succeed  wonderfully 
well  in  my  schemes  for  story-tellings,  readings  of  my 
ballads  and  poems,  lectures  on  the  art  of  versification, 
and  what  not,  we  need  have  no  lodgers  ;  and  then  we 
shall  all  be  living  a  happy  family — all  taking  our  share 
in  keeping  the  establishment  going.' 

'  Except  poor  me  ! '  sighed  the  mother. 

*  My  dear  mother,  you  will  be  necessary  as  a 
steadying  power — a  flywheel,  in  short,  to  the  concern. 
I  wish  that  father  could  live  there,  too.' 

*  He'll  never  give  up  his  present  way  of  life — it  has 
grown  to  be  a  part  of  his  nature.  Poor  man,  he  never 
feels  at  home  except  in  somebody  else's  house,  and  is 
nervous  and  quite  a  stranger  in  his  own.  Sich  is  the 
fatal  effects  of  service  ! ' 

'  O  mother,  don't ! '  said  Ethelberta  tenderly,  but 
with  her  teeth  on  edge  ;  and  Picotee  curled  up  her 
toes,  fearing  that  her  mother  was  going  to  moralize. 

*  Well,  what  I  mean  is,  that  your  father  would  not 
like  to  live  upon  your  earnings,  and  so  forth.  But 
in  town  we  shall  be  near  him — that's  one  comfort, 
certainly.' 

'And  I  shall  not  be  wanted  at  all,'  said  Picotee,  in 
a  melancholy  tone. 

*  It  is  much  better  to  stay  where  you  are,'  her 
mother  said.  *  You  will  come  and  spend  the  holidays 
with  us,  of  course,  as  you  do  now.' 

'  I  should  like  to  live  in  London  best,'  murmured 
Picotee,  her  head  sinking  mournfully  to  one  side.  '  I 
hate  being  in  Sandbourne  now ! ' 

*  Nonsense  ! '  said  Ethelberta  severely.  *  We  are 
all  contriving  how  to  live  most  comfortably,  and  it  is 
by  far  the  best  thing  for  you  to  stay  at  the  school. 
You  used  to  be  happy  enough  there.' 

Picotee  sighed,  and  said  no  more. 


Zi8 


A  LARGE  PUBLIC  HALL 

XVI 

It  was  the  second  week  in  February,  Parliament  had 
just  met,  and  Ethelberta  appeared  for  the  first  time 
before  an  audience  in  London. 

There  was  some  novelty  in  the  species  of  entertain- 
ment that  the  active  young  woman  had  proposed  to 
herself,  and  this  doubtless  had  due  effect  in  collecting 
the  body  of  strangers  that  greeted  her  entry,  over  and 
above  those  friends  who  came  to  listen  to  her  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Men  and  women  who  had  become 
totally  indifferent  to  new  actresses,  new  readers,  and 
new  singers,  once  more  felt  the  freshness  of  curiosity 
as  they  considered  the  promise  of  the  announcement. 
But  the  chief  inducement  to  attend  lay  in  the  fact  that 
here  was  to  be  seen  in  the  flesh  a  woman  with  whom 
the  tongue  of  rumour  had  been  busy  in  many  romantic 
ways — a  woman  who,  whatever  else  might  be  doubted, 
had  certainly  produced  a  volume  of  verses  which  had 
been  the  talk  of  the  many  who  had  read  them,  and 
of  the  many  more  who  had  not,  for  several  consecutive 
weeks. 

What  was  her  story  to  be  }  Persons  interested  in 
the  inquiry — a  small  proportion,  it  may  be  owned,  of 
the  whole  London  public,  and  chiefly  young  men — 
answered  this  question  for  themselves  by  assuming 
that  it  would  take  the  form  of  some  pungent  and 
gratifying  revelation  of  the  innermost  events  of  her 
own  life,  from  which  her  gushing  lines  had  sprung  as 

119 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

an  inevitable  consequence,  and  which  being  once 
known,  would  cause  such  musical  poesy  to  appear  no 
longer  wonderful. 

The  front  part  of  the  room  was  well  filled,  rows  of 
listeners  showing  themselves  like  a  drilled-in  crop  of 
which  not  a  seed  has  failed.  They  were  listeners  of 
the  right  sort,  a  majority  having  noses  of  the  prominent 
and  dignified  type,  which  when  viewed  in  oblique 
perspective  ranged  as  regularly  as  bow-windows  at  a 
watering-place.  Ethelberta's  plan  was  to  tell  her 
pretended  history  and  adventures  while  sitting  in  a 
chair — as  if  she  were  at  her  own  fireside,  surrounded 
by  a  circle  of  friends.  By  this  touch  of  domesticity  a 
great  appearance  of  truth  and  naturalness  was  given, 
though  really  the  attitude  was  at  first  more  difficult  to 
maintain  satisfactorily  than  any  one  wherein  stricter 
formality  should  be  observed.  She  gently  began  her 
subject,  as  if  scarcely  knowing  whether  a  throng  were 
near  her  or  not,  and,  in  her  fear  of  seeming  artificial, 
spoke  too  low.  This  defect,  however,  she  soon 
corrected,  and  ultimately  went  on  in  a  charmingly 
colloquial  manner.  What  Ethelberta  relied  upon  soon 
became  evident.  It  was  not  upon  the  intrinsic  merits 
of  her  story  as  a  piece  of  construction,  but  upon  her 
method  of  telling  it.  Whatever  defects  the  tale 
possessed — and  they  were  not  a  few — it  had,  as 
delivered  by  her,  the  one  pre-eminent  merit  of  seeming 
like  truth.  A  modern  critic  has  well  observed  of  De 
Foe  that  he  had  the  most  amazing  talent  on  record  for 
telling  lies  ;  and  Ethelberta,  in  wishing  her  fiction  to 
appear  like  a  real  narrative  of  personal  adventure,  did 
wisely  to  make  De  Foe  her  model.  His  is  a  style 
even  better  adapted  for  speaking  than  for  writing,  and 
the  peculiarities  of  diction  which  he  adopts  to  give 
verisimilitude  to  his  narratives  acquired  enormous 
additional  force  when  exhibited  as  viva-voce  manner- 
isms. And  although  these  artifices  were  not,  perhaps, 
slavishly  copied  from  that  master  of  feigning,  they 
would  undoubtedly  have  reminded  her  hearers  of  him, 

120 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

had  they  not  mostly  been  drawn  from  an  easeful 
section  in  society  which  is  especially  characterized  by 
the  mental  condition  of  knowing  nothing  about  any 
author  a  week  after  they  have  read  him.  The  few 
there  who  did  remember  De  Foe  were  impressed  by 
a  fancy  that  his  w^ords  greeted  them  anew  in  a  winged 
auricular  form,  instead  of  by  the  weaker  channels  of 
print  and  eyesight.  The  reader  may  imagine  what 
an  effect  this  well-studied  method  must  have  produced 
when  intensified  by  a  clear,  living  voice,  animated 
action,  and  the  brilliant  and  expressive  eye  of  a 
handsome  woman — attributes  which  of  themselves 
almost  compelled  belief.  When  she  reached  the  most 
telling  passages,  instead  of  adding  exaggerated  action 
and  sound,  Ethelberta  would  lapse  to  a  whisper  and  a 
sustained  stillness,  which  were  more  striking  than 
gesticulation.  All  that  could  be  done  by  art  was 
there,  and  if  inspiration  was  wanting  nobody  missed  it. 

It  was  in  performing  this  feat  that  Ethelberta 
seemed  first  to  discover  in  herself  the  full  power  of 
that  self-command  which  further  onward  in  her  career 
more  and  more  impressed  her  as  a  singular  possession, 
until  at  last  she  was  tempted  to  make  of  it  many 
fantastic  uses,  leading  to  results  that  affected  more 
households  than  her  own.  A  talent  for  demureness 
under  difficulties  without  the  cold-bloodedness  which 
renders  such  a  bearing  natural  and  easy,  a  face  and 
hand  reigning  unmoved  outside  a  heart  by  nature 
turbulent  as  a  wave,  is  a  constitutional  arrangement 
much  to  be  desired  by  people  in  general ;  yet,  had 
Ethelberta  been  framed  with  less  of  that  gift  in  her, 
her  life  might  have  been  more  comfortable  as  an 
experience,  and  brighter  as  an  example,  though 
perhaps  duller  as  a  story. 

'  Ladywell,  how  came  this  Mrs.  Petherwin  to  think 
of  such  a  queer  trick  as  telling  romances,  after  doing 
so  well  as  a  poet?'  said  a  man  in  the  stalls  to  his 
friend,  who  had  been  gazing  at  the  Story-teller  with  a 
rapt  face. 


121 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

What  —  don't    you    know?  —  e\erybody    did,    I 
thought,'  said  the  painter. 

*A  mistake.  Indeed,  I  should  not  have  come 
here  at  all  had  I  not  heard  the  subject  mentioned  by 
accident  yesterday  at  Grey's  ;  and  then  I  remembered 
her  to  be  the  same  woman  I  had  met  at  some  place — 
Belmaine's  I  think  it  was — last  year,  when  I  thought 
her  just  getting  on  for  handsome  and  clever,  not  to 
put  it  too  strongly.' 

*  Ah!  naturally  you  would  not  know  much,'  replied 
Ladywell,  in  an  eager  whisper.  '  Perhaps  I  am 
judging  others  by  myself  a  little  more  than — but,  as 
you  have  heard,  she  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine.  I 
know  her  very  well,  and,  in  fact,  I  originally  suggested 
the  scheme  to  her  as  a  pleasant  way  of  adding  to  her 
fame.  "  Depend  upon  it,  dear  Mrs.  Petherwin,"  I 
said,  during  a  pause  in  one  of  our  dances  together 
some  time  ago,  "any  public  appearance  of  yours  would 
be  successful  beyond  description." ' 

*  O,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  knew  her  so  well ! 
Then  it  is  quite  through  you  that  she  has  adopted 
this  course  ? ' 

*  Well,  not  entirely — I  could  not  say  entirely.  She 
said  that  some  day,  perhaps,  she  might  do  such  a 
thing ;  and,  in  short,  I  reduced  her  vague  ideas  to 
form.' 

'  I  should  not  mind  knowing  her  better — I  must 
get  you  to  throw  us  together  in  some  way,'  said 
Neigh,  with  some  interest.  *  I  had  no  idea  that 
you  were  such  an  old  friend.  You  could  do  it,  I 
suppose  ? ' 

'  Really,  I  am  afraid — hah-hah — may  not  have  the 
opportunity  of  obliging  you.  I  met  her  at  Wyndway, 
you  know,  where  she  was  visiting  with  Lady  Pether- 
win. It  was  some  time  ago,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I 
have  ever  met  her  since.' 

*  Or  before  ?  '  said  Neigh. 

*  Well — no  ;  I  never  did.* 

*  Ladywell,  if  I  had  half  your  power  of  going  to 

122 


A  COMEDY   Ix\  CHAPTERS 

your  imagination   for  facts,   I  would  be  the  greatest 
painter  in  England.' 

*  Now  Neigh — that's  too  bad — but  with  regard  to 
this  matter,  I  do  speak  with  some  interest,'  said  Lady- 
well,  with  a  pleased  sense  of  himself. 

'  In  love  with  her  ? — Smitten  down  ? — Done  for  ?' 

*  Now,  now !  However,  several  other  fellows 
chaff  me  about  her.  It  was  only  yesterday  that  Jones 
said ' 

*  Do  you  know  why  she  cares  to  do  this  sort  of 
thing?'  ^ 

'  Merely  a  desire  for  fame,  I  suppose. 

*  I  should  think  she  has  fame  enough  already.' 

*  That  I  can  express  no  opinion  upon.  I  am 
thinking  of  getting  her  permission  to  use  her  face  in 
a  subject  I  am  preparing,  It  is  a  fine  face  for  canvas. 
Glorious  contour — glorious.  Ah,  here  she  is  again, 
for  the  second  part.' 

'  Dream  on,  young  fellow.  You'll  make  a  rare 
couple ! '  said  Neigh,  with  a  flavour  of  superciliousness 
unheeded  by  his  occupied  companion. 

Further  back  in  the  room  were  a  pair  of  faces 
whose  keen  interest  in  the  performance  contrasted 
much  with  the  languidly  permissive  air  of  those  in 
front.  When  the  ten  minutes'  break  occurred,  Chris- 
topher was  the  first  of  the  two  to  speak.  '  Well,  what 
do  you  think  of  her.  Faith  ? '  he  said,  shifting  resdessly 
on  his  seat. 

*  I  like  the  quiet  parts  of  the  tale  best,  I  think,' 
replied  the  sister ;  '  but,  of  course,  I  am  not  a  good 
judge  of  these  things.  How  still  the  people  are  at 
times !  I  continually  take  my  eyes  from  her  to  look 
at  the  listeners.  Did  you  notice  the  fat  old  lady  in 
the  second  row,  with  her  cloak  a  little  thrown  back.-* 
She  was  absolutely  unconscious,  and  stayed  with  her 
face  up  and  lips  parted  like  a  little  child  of  six.' 

'  She  well  may !  the  thing  is  a  triumph.  That 
fellow  Ladywell  is  here,  I  believe — yes,  it  is  he,  busily 
talking  to  the  man  on  his  right.      If  I  were  a  woman  I 

123 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

would  rather  go  donkey-driving  than  stick  myself  up 
there,  for  gaping  fops  to  quiz  and  say  what  they  like 
about !  But  she  had  no  choice,  poor  thing  ;  for  it  was 
that  or  nothing  with  her.' 

Faith,  who  had  secret  doubts  about  the  absolute 
necessity  of  Ethelberta's  appearance  in  public,  said, 
with  remote  meanings,  '  Perhaps  it  is  not  altogether 
a  severe  punishment  to  her  to  be  looked  at  by  well- 
dressed  men.  Suppose  she  feels  it  as  a  blessing, 
instead  of  an  affliction  ?  ' 

*  She  is  a  different  sort  of  woman,  Faith,  and  so 
you  would  say  if  you  knew  her.  Of  course,  it  is 
natural  for  you  to  criticize  her  severely  just  now,  and 
I  don't  wish  to  defend  her.' 

*  I  think  you  do  a  little,  Kit.* 

'  No ;  I  am  indifferent  about  it  all.  Perhaps  it 
would  have  been  better  for  me  if  I  had  never  seen 
her ;  and  possibly  it  might  have  been  better  for  her  if 
she  had  never  seen  me.  She  has  a  heart,  and  the 
heart  is  a  troublesome  encumbrance  when  great  things 
have  to  be  done.  I  wish  you  knew  her  :  I  am  sure 
you  would  like  each  other.' 

'O  yes,'  said  Faith,  in  a  voice  of  rather  weak  con- 
viction. '  But,  as  we  live  in  such  a  plain  way,  it 
would  be  hardly  desirable  at  present.' 

Ethelberta  being  regarded,  in  common  with  the 
latest  conjurer,  spirit-medium,  aeronaut,  giant,  dwarf, 
or  monarch,  as  a  new  sensation,  she  was  duly  criticized 
in  the  morning  papers,  and  even  obtained  a  notice  in 
some  of  the  weekly  reviews. 

'A  handsome  woman,'  said  one  of  these,  'may 
have  her  own  reasons  for  causing  the  flesh  of  the 
London  public  to  creep  upon  its  bones  by  her  un- 
doubtedly remarkable  narrative  powers ;  but  we  question 
if  much  good  can  result  from  such  a  form  of  entertain- 
ment. Nevertheless,  some  praise  is  due.  We  have 
had  the  novel-writer  among  us  for  some  time,  and 
the   novel -reader   has   occasionally  appeared   on   our 

124 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

platforms  ;  but  we  believe  that  this  is  the  first  instance 
on  record  of  a  Novel-teller — one,  that  is  to  say,  who 
relates  professedly  as  fiction  a  romantic  tale  which  has 
never  been  printed — the  whole  owing  its  chief  interest 
to  the  method  whereby  the  teller  identifies  herself  with 
the  leading  character  in  the  story.' 

Another  observed  :  '  When  once  we  get  away  from 
the  magic  influence  of  the  story-teller's  eye  and  tongue, 
we  perceive  how  improbable,  even  impossible,  is  the 
tissue  of  events  to  which  we  have  been  listening  with 
so  great  a  sense  of  reality,  and  we  feel  almost  angry 
with  ourselves  at  having  been  the  victims  of  such  utter 
illusion.' 

'  Mrs.  Petherwin's  personal  appearance  Is  decidedly 
in  her  favour,' said  another.  'She  affects  no  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  fact  that  form  and  feature  are  no 
mean  vehicles  of  persuasion,  and  she  uses  the  powers 
of  each  to  the  utmost.  There  spreads  upon  her  face 
when  in  repose  an  air  of  innocence  which  is  charmingly 
belied  by  the  subtlety  we  discover  beneath  it  when 
she  begins  her  tale ;  and  this  amusing  discrepancy 
between  her  physical  presentment,  and  the  inner 
woman  is  further  illustrated  by  the  misgiving,  which 
seizes  us  on  her  entrance,  that  so  impressionable  a 
lady  will  never  bear  up  in  the  face  of  so  trying  an 
audience.  .  .  .  The  combinations  of  incident  which 
Mrs.  Petherwin  persuades  her  hearers  that  she  has 
passed  through  are  not  a  little  marvellous ;  and  if 
what  is  rumoured  be  true,  that  the  tales  are  to  a  great 
extent  based  upon  her  own  experiences,  she  has  proved 
herself  to  be  no  less  daring  in  adventure  than  facile  in 
her  power  of  describing  it.* 


ETHELBERTA'S  HOUSE 

XVII 

After  such  successes  as  these,  Christopher  could  not 
forego  the  seductive  intention  of  calling  upon  the 
poetess  and  romancer  at  her  now  established  town 
residence  in  Exonbury  Crescent.  One  wintry  after- 
noon he  reached  the  door — now  for  the  third  time — 
and  gave  a  knock  which  had  in  it  every  tender  re- 
finement that  could  be  thrown  into  the  somewhat 
antagonistic  vehicle  of  noise.  Turning  his  face  down 
the  street  he  waited  restlessly  on  the  step.  There 
was  a  strange  light  in  the  atmosphere  :  the  glass  of 
the  street-lamps,  the  varnished  back  of  a  passing  cab, 
a  milk-woman's  cans,  and  a  row  of  church-windows 
glared  in  his  eyes  like  new-rubbed  copper ;  and  on 
looking  the  other  way  he  beheld  a  bloody  sun  hanging 
among  the  chimneys  at  the  upper  end,  as  a  danger- 
lamp  to  warn  him  off. 

By  this  time  the  door  was  opened,  and  before  him 
stood  Ethelberta's  young  brother  Joey,  thickly  popu- 
lated with  little  buttons,  the  remainder  of  him  consisting 
of  invisible  green. 

'Ah,  Joseph!'  said  Christopher,  instantly  recog- 
nizing the  boy.  *What,  are  you  here  in  office?  Is 
your * 

Joey  lifted  his  forefinger  and  spread  his  mouth  in  a 
genial  manner,  as  if  to  signify  particular  friendliness 
mingled  with  general  caution. 

*  Yes,  sir,  Mrs.  Petherwin  is  my  mistress.      I'll  see 

126 


A  COxMEDY  liN  CHAPTERS 

if  she  Is  at  home,  sir,'  he  replied,  raising  his  shoulders 
and  winking  a  wink  of  strategic  meanings  by  way  of 
tinish — all  which  signs  showed,  if  evidence  were 
wanted,  how  effectually  this  pleasant  young  page 
understood,  though  quite  fresh  from  Wessex,  the 
duties  of  his  peculiar  position.  Mr.  Julian  was  shown 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  there  he  found  Ethelberta 
alone. 

She  gave  him  a  hand  so  cool  and  still  that  Chris- 
topher, much  as  he  desired  the  contact,  was  literally 
ashamed  to  let  her  see  and  feel  his  own,  trembling 
with  unmanageable  excess  of  feeling.  It  was  always 
so,  always  had  been  so,  always  would  be  so,  at  these 
meetings  of  theirs  :  she  was  immeasurably  the  stronger; 
and  the  deep-eyed  young  man  fancied,  in  the  chagrin 
which  the  perception  of  this  difference  always  bred  in 
him,  that  she  triumphed  in  her  superior  control.  Yet 
it  was  only  in  little  things  that  their  sexes  were  thus 
reversed  :  Christopher  would  receive  quite  a  shock  if 
a  little  dog  barked  at  his  heels,  and  be  totally  unmoved 
when  in  danorer  of  his  life. 

Certainly  the  most  self-possessed  woman  in  the 
world,  under  pressure  of  the  incongruity  between  their 
last  meeting  and  the  present  one,  might  have  shown 
more  embarrassment  than  Ethelberta  showed  on 
greeting  him  to-day.  Christopher  was  only  a  man  in 
believing  that  the  shyness  which  she  did  evince  was 
chiefly  the  result  of  personal  interest.  She  might  or 
might  not  have  been  said  to  blush — perhaps  the 
stealthy  change  upon  her  face  was  too  slow  an  opera- 
tion to  deserve  that  name  :  but,  though  pale  when  he 
called,  the  end  of  ten  minutes  saw  her  colour  high  and 
wide.  She  soon  set  him  at  his  ease,  and  seemed  to 
relax  a  long-sustained  tension  as  she  talked  to  him  of 
her  arrangements,  hopes,  and  fears. 

'  And  how  do  you  like  London  society  ? '  said 
Ethelberta. 

•  Pretty  well,  as  far  as  I  have  seen  it :  to  the  surface 
of  its  front  door.* 

12; 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  You  will  find  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at  if  you  get 
inside.' 

*  O  no — of  course  not — except  my  own  short- 
comings,' said  the  modest  musician.  *  London  society 
is  made  up  of  much  more  refined  people  than  society 
anywhere  else.' 

'  That's  a  very  prevalent  opinion ;  and  it  is  nowhere 
half  so  prevalent  as  in  London  society  Itself  How- 
ever, come  and  see  my  house — unless  you  think  it  a 
trouble  to  look  over  a  house  ? ' 

'  No  ;   I  should  like  it  very  much.' 

The  decorations  tended  towards  the  artistic  gym- 
nastics prevalent  In  some  quarters  at  the  present  day.^ 
Upon  a  general  flat  tint  of  duck's-egg  green  appeared 
quaint  patterns  of  conventional  foliage,  and  birds,  done 
in  bright  auburn,  several  shades  nearer  to  redbreast- 
red  than  was  Ethelberta's  hair,  which  was  thus  thrust 
further  towards  brown  by  such  juxtaposition — a  possible 
reason  for  the  choice  of  tint.  Upon  the  glazed  tiles 
within  the  chimney-piece  were  the  forms  of  owls,  bats, 
snakes,  frogs,  mice,  spiders  in  their  webs,  moles,  and 
other  objects  of  aversion  and  darkness,  shaped  in  black 
and  burnt  in  after  the  approved  fashion. 

*  My  brothers  Sol  and  Dan  did  most  of  the  actual 
work,'  said  Ethelberta,  '  though  I  drew  the  outlines, 
and  designed  the  tiles  round  the  fire.  The  flowers, 
mice,  and  spiders  are  done  very  simply,  you  know  : 
you  only  press  a  real  flower,  mouse,  or  spider  out  flat 
under  a  piece  of  glass,  and  then  copy  it,  adding  a  little 
more  emaciation  and  angularity  at  pleasure.' 

*  In  that  "at  pleasure"  is  where  all  the  art  lies,* 
said  he. 

'Well,  yes — that  is  the  case,'  said  Ethelberta 
thoughtfully  ;  and  preceding  him  upstairs,  she  threw 
open  a  door  on  one  of  the  floors,  disclosing  Dan  In 
person,  engaged  upon  a  similar  treatment  of  this  floor 
also.  Sol  appeared  bulging  from  the  door  of  a  closet, 
a  little  further  on,  where  he  was  fixing  some  shelves  ; 

1  Written  in  1875. 
128 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

and  both  wore  workmen's  blouses.  At  once  coming 
down  from  the  short  ladder  he  was  standing  upon, 
Dan  shook  Christopher's  hand  with  some  velocity. 

'We  do  a  little  at  a  time,  you  see,'  he  said, 
'  because  Colonel  down  below,  and  Mrs.  Petherwin's 
visitors,  shan't  smell  the  turpentine.' 

'  We  be  pushing  on  to-day  to  get  it  out  of  the 
way,'  said  Sol,  also  coming  forward  and  greeting  their 
visitor,  but  more  reluctantly  than  his  brother  had  done. 
'  Now  I'll  tell  ye  what — you  two,'  he  added,  after  an 
uneasy  pause,  turning  from  Christopher  to  Ethelberta 
and  back  again  in  great  earnestness  ;  *  you'd  better 
not  bide  here,  talking  to  us  rough  ones,  you  know, 
for  folks  might  find  out  that  there's  something  closer 
between  us  than  workmen  and  employer  and  employer's 
friend.  So  Berta  and  Mr.  Julian,  if  you'll  go  on  and 
take  no  more  notice  o'  us,  in  case  of  visitors,  it  would 
be  wiser — else,  perhaps,  if  we  should  be  found  out 
intimate  with  ye,  and  bring  down  your  gentility,  you'll 
blame  us  for  it.  I  get  as  nervous  as  a  cat  when  I 
think  I  may  be  the  cause  of  any  disgrace  to  ye.' 

*  Don't  be  so  silly,  Sol,'  said  Ethelberta,  laughing. 

*  Ah,  that's  all  very  well,'  said  Sol,  with  an  un- 
believing smile  ;  *  but  if  we  bain't  company  for  you  out 
of  doors,  you  bain't  company  for  us  within — not  that 
I  find  fault  with  ye  or  mind  it,  and  shan't  take  any- 
thing for  painting  your  house,  nor  will  Dan  neither, 
any  more  for  that — no,  not  a  penny  ;  in  fact,  we  are 
glad  to  do  it  for  'ee.  At  the  same  time,  you  keep  to 
your  class,  and  we'll  keep  to  ours.  And  so,  good 
afternoon,  Berta,  when  you  like  to  go,  and  the  same 
to  you,  Mr.  Julian.      Dan,  is  that  your  mind  ?  ' 

*  I  can't  but  own  it,'  said  Dan. 

The  two  brothers  then  turned  their  backs  upon 
their  visitors,  and  went  on  working,  and  Ethelberta 
and  her  lover  left  the  room.  '  My  brothers,  you 
perceive,'  said  she,  '  represent  the  respectable  British 
workman  in  his  entirety,  and  a  touchy  individual  he 
is,  I  assure  you,  on  points  of  dignity,  after  imbibing 

129 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

a  few  town  ideas  from  his  leaders.  They  are  pain- 
fully off-hand  with  me,  absolutely  refusing  to  be 
intimate,  from  a  mistaken  notion  that  I  am  ashamed  of 
their  dress  and  manners  ;  which,  of  course,  is  absurd.' 

*  Which,  of  course,  is  absurd,'  said  Christopher. 

'  Of  course  it  is  absurd  ! '  she  repeated  with  warmth, 
and  looking  keenly  at  him.  But,  finding  no  harm  in 
his  face,  she  continued  as  before  :  '  Yet,  all  the  time, 
they  will  do  anything  under  the  sun  that  they  think 
will  advance  my  interests.  In  our  hearts  we  are  one. 
All  they  ask  me  to  do  is  to  leave  them  to  themselves, 
and  therefore  I  do  so.  Now,  would  you  like  to  see 
some  more  of  your  acquaintance  ?  ' 

She  introduced  him  to  a  large  attic ;  where  he 
found  himself  in  the  society  of  two  or  three  persons 
considerably  below  the  middle  height,  whose  manners 
were  of  that  gushing  kind  sometimes  called  Con- 
tinental, their  ages  ranging  from  five  years  to  eight. 
These  were  the  youngest  children,  presided  over  by 
Emmeline,  as  professor  of  letters,  capital  and  small. 

*  I  am  giving  them  the  rudiments  of  education 
here,'  said  Ethelberta ;  '  but  I  foresee  several  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  keeping  them  here,  which  I  must  get 
over  as  best  I  can.  One  trouble  is,  that  they  don't 
get  enough  air  and  exercise.' 

*  Is  Mrs.  Chickerel  living  here  as  well?'  Christopher 
ventured  to  inquire,  when  they  were  downstairs  again. 

*  Yes  ;  but  confined  to  her  room  as  usual,  I  regret 
to  say.  Two  more  sisters  of  mine,  whom  you  have 
never  seen  at  all,  are  also  here.  They  are  older  than 
any  of  the  rest  of  us,  and  had,  broadly  speaking,  no 
education  at  all,  poor  girls.  The  eldest,  Gwendoline, 
is  my  cook,  and  Cornelia  is  my  housemaid.  I  suffer 
much  sadness,  and  almost  misery  sometimes,  in  reflect- 
ing that  here  are  we,  ten  brothers  and  sisters,  born  of 
one  father  and  mother,  who  might  have  mixed  together 
and  shared  all  in  the  same  scenes,  and  been  properly 
happy,  if  it  were  not  for  the  strange  accidents  that 
have  split  us  up  into  sections  as  you  see,  cutting  me 

130 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

off  from  them  without  tne  compensation  of  joining  me 
to  any  others.  They  are  all  true  as  steel  in  keeping 
the  secret  of  our  kin,  certainly ;  but  that  brings  little 
joy,  though  some  satisfaction  perhaps.' 

*  You  might  be  less  despondent,  I  think.  The 
tale-telling  has  been  one  of  the  successes  of  the  season.' 

'  Yes,  I  might ;  but  I  may  observe  that  you  scarcely 
set  the  example  of  blitheness.' 

*  Ah — that's  not  because  I  don't  recognize  the 
pleasure  of  being  here.  It  is  from  a  more  general 
cause  :  simply  an  underfeeling  I  have  that  at  the  most 
propitious  moment  the  distance  to  the  possibility  of 
sorrow  is  so  short  that  a  man's  spirits  must  not  rise 
higher  than  mere  cheerfulness  out  of  bare  respect  to 
his  insight. 

"  As  long  as  skies  are  blue,  and  fields  are  green. 
Evening  must  usher  night,  night  urge  the  morrow. 
Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to  sorrow."' 

Ethelberta  bowed  uncertainly  ;  the  remark  might 
refer  to  her  past  conduct  or  it  might  not.  *  My  great 
cause  of  uneasiness  is  the  children,'  she  presently  said, 
as  a  new  page  of  matter.  *  It  is  my  duty,  at  all  risk 
and  all  sacrifice  of  sentiment,  to  educate  and  provide 
for  them.  The  grown-up  ones,  older  than  myself,  I 
cannot  help  much,  but  the  little  ones  I  can.  I  keep 
my  two  French  lodgers  for  the  sake  of  them.' 

*  The  lodgers,  of  course,  don't  know  the  relation- 
ship between  yourself  and  the  rest  of  the  people  in 
the  house  ? ' 

*  O  no  ! — nor  will  they  ever.  My  mother  is 
supposed  to  let  the  ground  and  first  floors  to  me — a 
strange  lady — as  she  does  the  second  and  third  floors 
to  them.     Still,  I  may  be  discovered.' 

*  Well — if  you  are  ?  ' 

*  Let  me  be.  Life  is  a  battle,  they  say ;  but  it  is 
only  so  in  the  sense  that  a  game  of  chess  is  a  battle 
— there  is  no  seriousness  in  it ;  it  may  be  put  an  end 
to  at  any  inconvenient  moment  by  owning  yourself 

131 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

beaten,  with  a  careless  *'  Ha-ha!"  and  sweeping  your 
pieces  into  the  box.  Experimentally,  I  care  to  succeed 
in  society  ;  but  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  don't 
care.' 

*  For  that  very  reason  you  are  likely  to  do  it.  My 
idea  is,  make  ambition  your  business  and  indifference 
your  relaxation,  and  you  will  fail ;  but  make  indifference 
your  business  and  ambition  your  relaxation,  and  you 
will  succeed.     So  impish  are  the  ways  of  the  gods.' 

'  I  hope  that  you  at  any  rate  will  succeed,'  she  said, 
at  the  end  of  a  silence. 

'  I  never  can — if  success  means  getting  what  one 
wants.' 

'  Why  should  you  not  get  that  ?  * 

'  It  has  been  forbidden  to  me.' 

Her  complexion  changed  just  enough  to  show  that 
she  knew  what  he  meant.  '  If  you  were  as  bold  as 
you  are  subtle,  you  would  tat?e  a  more  cheerful  view  of 
the  matter,'  she  said,  with  a  look  signifying  innermost 
things. 

'  I  will  instantly  !  Shall  I  test  the  truth  of  my 
cheerful  view  by  a  word  of  question  ?  ' 

'  I  deny  that  you  are  capable  of  taking  that  view, 
and  until  you  prove  that  you  are,  no  question  is 
allowed,'  she  said,  laughing,  and  still  warmer  in  the 
face  and  neck.  *  Nothing  but  melancholy,  gentle 
melancholy,  now  as  in  old  times  when  there  was 
nothing  to  cause  it.' 

*  Ah — you  only  tease.' 

'  You  will  not  throw  aside  that  bitter  medicine  of 
distrust,  for  the  world.  You  have  grown  so  used  to  it, 
that  you  take  it  as  food,  as  some  invalids  do  their 
mixXures.' 

'  Ethelberta,  you  have  my  heart — my  whole  heart. 
You  have  had  it  ever  since  I  first  saw  you.  Now  you 
understand  me,  and  no  pretending  that  you  don't, 
mind,  this  second  time.' 

'  I  understood  you  long  ago ;  you  have  not  under- 
stood me.' 

132 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  You  are  mysterious,'  he  said  lightly  ;  '  and  perhaps 
if  I  disentangle  your  mystery  I  shall  find  it  to  cover — 
indifference.      I  hope  it  does — for  your  sake.' 

'  How  can  you  say  so  ! '  she  exclaimed  reproachfully. 

*  Yet  I  wish  it  did  too — I  wish  it  did  cover  indifference 
— for  yours.  But  you  have  all  of  me  that  you  care  to 
have,  and  may  keep  it  for  life  if  you  wish  to.  Listen, 
surely  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  ?  Let  us  go 
inside  the  room  :  I  am  always  uneasy  when  anybody 
comes,  lest  any  awkward  discovery  should  be  made  by 
a  visitor  of  my  miserable  contrivances  for  keeping  up 
the  establishment.' 

Joey  met  them  before  they  had  left  the  landing. 

'Please,  Berta,'  he  whispered,  'Mr.  Ladywell  has 
called,  and  I've  showed  him  into  the  liberry.  You 
know,  Berta,  this  is  how  it  was,  you  know  :  I  thought 
you  and  Mr.  Julian  were  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
wouldn't  want  him  to  see  ye  together,  and  so  I  asked 
him  to  step  into  the  liberry  a  minute.' 

'  You  must  improve  your  way  of  speaking,'  she  said, 
with  quick  embarrassment,  whether  at  the  mention  of 
Ladywell's  name  before  Julian,  or  at  the  way  Joey 
coupled  herself  with  Christopher,  was  quite  uncertain. 

*  Will  you  excuse  me  for  a  few  moments  ? '  she  said, 
turning  to  Christopher.  '  Pray  sit  down  ;  I  shall  not 
be  long.*    And  she  glided  downstairs. 

They  had  been  standing  just  by  the  drawing-room 
door,  and  Christopher  turned  back  into  the  room  with 
no  very  satisfactory  countenance.  It  was  very  odd,  he 
thought,  that  she  should  go  down  to  Ladywell  in  that 
mysterious  manner,  when  he  might  have  been  admitted 
to  where  they  were  talking  without  any  trouble  at  all. 
What  could  Ladywell  have  to  say,  as  an  acquaintance 
calling  upon  her  for  a  few  minutes,  that  he  was  not  to 
hear?  Indeed,  if  it  came  to  that,  what  right  had 
Ladywell  to  call  upon  her  at  all,  even  though  she  were 
a  widow,  and  to  some  extent  chartered  to  live  in  a 
way  which  might  be  considered  a  trifle  free  if  indulged 
in  by  other  young  women.     This  was  the  first  time 

133 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

that  he  himself  had  ventured  into  her  house  on  that 
very  account — a  doubt  whether  it  was  quite  proper  to 
call,  considering  her  youth,  and  the  fertility  of  her 
position  as  ground  for  scandal.  But  no  sooner  did  he 
arrive  than  here  was  Ladywell  blundering  in,  and, 
since  this  conjunction  had  occurred  on  his  first  visit, 
the  chances  were  that  Ladywell  came  very  often. 

Julian  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  every  moment 
expanding  itself  to  a  minute  in  his  impatience  at  the 
delay  and  vexation  at  the  cause.  After  scrutinizing 
for  the  fifth  time  every  object  on  the  walls  as  if  afflicted 
with  microscopic  closeness  of  sight,  his  hands  under 
his  coat-tails,  and  his  person  jigging  up  and  down 
upon  his  toes,  he  heard  her  coming  up  the  stairs. 
When  she  entered  the  apartment  her  appearance  was 
decidedly  that  of  a  person  subsiding  after  some  little 
excitement. 

'  I  did  not  calculate  upon  being  so  long,'  she  said 
sweetly,  at  the  same  time  throwing  back  her  face  and 
smiling.     *  But  I — was  longer  than  I  expected.' 

*  It  seemed  rather  long,'  said  Christopher  gloomily  ; 
'but  I  don't  mind  it.' 

*  I  am  glad  of  that,'  said  Ethelberta. 

*  As  you  asked  me  to  stay,  I  was  very  pleased  to 
do  so,  and  always  should  be ;  but  I  think  that  now  I 
will  wish  you  good-bye.' 

*  You  are  not  vexed  with  me  ? '  she  said,  looking 
quite  into  his  face.  '  Mr.  Ladywell  is  nobody,  you 
know.' 

'  Nobody?' 

*  Well,  he  is  not  much,  I  mean.  The  case  is,  that 
I  am  sitting  to  him  for  a  subject  in  which  my  face  is 
to  be  used — otherwise  than  as  a  portrait — and  he 
called  about  it.' 

'May  I  say,'  said  Christopher,  'that  if  you  want 
yourself  painted,  you  are  ill-advised  not  to  let  it  be 
done  by  a  man  who  knows  how  to  use  the  brush  a 
little  ?  ' 

*  O,  he  can  paint ! '  said  Ethelberta  rather  warmly. 

134 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  His  last  picture  was  excellent,  I  think.  It  was 
greatly  talked  about.' 

'  I  imagined  you  to  say  that  he  was  a  mere 
nobody ! ' 

*  Yes,  but — how  provoking  you  are  ! — nobody,  I 
mean,  to  talk  to.      He  is  a  true  artist,  nevertheless.' 

Christopher  made  no  reply.  The  warm  under- 
standing between  them  had  quite  ended  now,  and 
there  was  no  fanning  it  up  again.  Sudden  tiffs  had 
been  the  constant  misfortune  of  their  courtship  in 
days  gone  by,  had  been  the  remote  cause  of  her 
marriaofe  to  another  ;  and  the  familiar  shadows  seemed 
to  be  rising  a^ain  to  cloud  them  with  the  same 
persistency  as  ever.  Christopher  went  downstairs 
with  well-behaved  moodiness,  and  left  the  house 
forthwith.  The  postman  came  to  the  door  at  the 
same  time. 

Ethelberta  opened  a  letter  from  Picotee — now  at 
Sandbourne  again  ;  and,  stooping  to  the  fire-light,  she 
began  to  read  : — 

My  dear  Ethelberta, — I  have  tried  to  like  staying  at 
Sandbourne  because  you  wished  it,  but  I  can't  endure  the 
town  at  all,  dear  Berta  ;  everything  is  so  wretched  and  dull ! 
O,  I  only  wish  you  knew  how  dismal  it  is  here,  and  how 
much  I  would  give  to  come  to  London  !  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  I  could  do  better  in  town.  You  see,  I  should 
be  close  to  you,  and  should  have  the  benefit  of  your  experience. 
I  would  not  mind  what  I  did  for  a  living  could  I  be  there 
where  you  all  are.  It  is  so  like  banishment  to  be  here.  If  I 
could  not  get  a  pupil-teachership  in  some  London  school  (and 
I  believe  I  could  by  advertising)  I  could  stay  with  you,  and 
be  governess  to  Georgina  and  Myrtle,  for  I  am  sure  you 
cannot  spare  time  enough  to  teach  them  as  they  ought  to  be 
taught,  and  Emmeline  is  not  old  enough  to  have  any 
command  over  them.  I  could  also  assist  at  your  dress- 
making, and  you  must  lequire  a  great  deal  of  that  to  be  done 
if  you  continue  to  appear  in  public.  Mr.  Long  read  in  the 
papers  the  account  of  your  first  evening,  and  afterwards  I 
heard  two  ladies  of  our  committtee  talking  about  it ;  but  of 
course  not  one  of  them  knew  my  personal  interest  in  the 
discussion.     Now  will  you,  Ethelberta,  think   if  I   may  not 

135 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

come :  Do,  there's  a  dear  sister !    I  will  do  anything  you  set 
me  about  if  I  may  only  come. — Your  ever  affectionate, 

PiCOTEE. 

*  Great  powers  above — what  worries  do  beset  me  ! ' 
cried  Ethelberta,  jumping  up.  'What  can  possess  the 
child  so  suddenly  ? — she  used  to  like  Sandbourne  well 
enough ! '  She  sat  down,  and  hastily  scribbled  the 
following  reply  : — 

My  dear  Picotee, — There  is  only  a  little  time  to  spare 
before  the  post  goes,  but  I  will  try  to  answer  your  letter  at 
once.  Whatever  is  the  reason  of  this  extraordinary  dislike  to 
Sandbourne?  It  is  a  nice  healthy  place,  and  you  are  likely 
to  do  much  better  than  either  of  our  elder  sisters,  if  you  follow 
straight  on  in  the  path  you  have  chosen.  Of  course,  if  such 
good^  fortune  should  attend  me  that  I  get  rich  by  my 
contrivances  of  public  story-telling  and  so  on,  I  shall  share 
everything  with  you  and  the  rest  of  us,  in  which  case  you 
shall  not  work  at  all.  But  (although  I  have  been  unexpectedly 
successful  so  far)  this  is  problematical  ;  and  it  would  be  rash 
to  calculate  upon  all  of  us  being  able  to  live,  or  even  us  seven 
girls  only,  upon  the  fortune  I  am  going  to  make  that  way. 
So,  though  I  don't  mean  to  be  harsh,  I  must  impress  upon 
you  the  necessity  of  going  on  as  you  are  going  just  at  present. 
I  know  the  place  must  be  dull,  but  we  must  all  put  up  with 
dulness  sometimes.  You,  being  next  to  me  in  age,  must  aid  me 
as  well  as  you  can  in  doing  something  for  the  younger  ones : 
and  if  anybody  at  all  comes  and  lives  here  otherwise  than  as  a 
servant,  it  must  be  our  father — who  will  not,  however,  at 
present  hear  of  such  a  thing  when  I  mention  it  to  him.  Do 
think  of  all  this,  Picotee,  and  bear  up !  Perhaps  we  shall  all 
be  happy  and  united  some  day.  Joey  is  waiting  to  run  to  the 
post-office  with  this  at  once.  All  are  well.  Sol  and  Dan 
have  nearly  finished  the  repairs  and  decorations  of  my  house 
—but  I  will  tell  you  of  that  another  time. — Your  affectionate 
sister,  Berta. 


NEAR  SANDBOURNE 
LONDON  STREETS 

ETHELBERTAS 

XVIII 

When  this  letter  reached  its  destination  the  next 
morning,  Picotee,  in  her  over-anxiety,  could  not  bring 
herself  to  read  it  in  anybody's  presence,  and  put  it  in 
her  pocket  till  she  was  on  her  walk  across  the  moor. 
She  still  lived  at  the  cottage  out  of  the  town,  though 
at  some  inconvenience  to  herself,  in  order  to  teach  at 
a  small  village  night-school  whilst  still  carrying  on  her 
larger  occupation  of  pupil-teacher  in  Sandbourne. 

So  she  walked  and  read,  and  was  soon  in  tears. 
Moreover,  when  she  thought  of  what  Ethelberta  would 
have  replied  had  that  keen  sister  known  the  wildness 
of  her  true  reason  in  wishing  to  go,  she  shuddered 
with  misery.  To  wish  to  get  near  a  man  only  because 
he  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  had  admired  her  pretty 
face,  and  had  given  her  flowers,  to  nourish  a  passion 
all  the  more  because  of  its  hopeless  impracticability, 
were  things  to  dream  of,  not  to  tell.  Picotee  was  quite 
an  unreasoning  animal.  Her  sister  arranged  situations 
for  her,  told  her  how  to  conduct  herself  in  them,  how 
to  make  up  anew,  in  unobtrusive  shapes,  the  valuable 
wearing  apparel  she  sent  from  time  to  time — so  as  to 
provoke  neither  exasperation  in  the  little  gentry,  nor 
superciliousness  in  the  great.  Ethelberta  did  every- 
thing for  her,  in  short;  and   Picotee  obeyed  orders 

137 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

with  the  abstracted  ease  of  mind  which  people  show 
who  have  their  thinking  done  for  them,  and  put  out 
their  troubles  as  they  do  their  washing.  She  was 
quite  willing  not  to  be  clever  herself,  since  it  was 
unnecessary  while  she  had  a  much-admired  sister,  who 
was  clever  enough  for  two  people  and  to  spare. 

This  arrangement,  by  which  she  gained  an  un- 
troubled existence  in  exchange  for  freedom  of  will,  had 
worked  very  pleasantly  for  Picotee  until  the  anomaly 
of  falling  in  love  on  her  own  account  created  a  jar  in 
the  machinery.  Then  she  began  to  know  how  wearing 
were  miserable  days,  and  how  much  more  wearing 
were  miserable  nights.  She  pictured  Christopher  in 
London  calling  upon  her  dignified  sister  (for  Ethelberta 
innocently  mentioned  his  name  sometimes  in  writing) 
and  imagined  over  and  over  again  the  mutual  signs  of 
warm  feeling  between  them.  And  now  Picotee  resolved 
upon  a  noble  course.  Like  Juliet,  she  had  been 
troubled  with  a  consciousness  that  perhaps  her  love 
for  Christopher  was  a  trifle  forward  and  unmaidenly, 
even  though  she  had  determined  never  to  let  him  or 
anybody  in  the  whole  world  know  of  it.  To  set  her- 
self to  pray  that  she  might  have  strength  to  see  him 
without  a  pang  the  lover  of  her  sister,  who  deserved 
him  so  much  more  than  herself,  would  be  a  grand 
penance  and  corrective. 

After  uttering  petitions  to  this  effect  for  several 
days,  she  still  felt  very  bad  ;  indeed,  in  the  psycho- 
logical difficulty  of  striving  for  what  in  her  soul  she 
did  not  desire,  rather  worse,  if  anything.  At  last, 
weary  of  walking  the  old  road  and  never  meeting  him, 
and  blank  in  a  general  powerlessness,  she  wrote  the 
letter  to  Ethelberta,  which  was  only  the  last  one  of  a 
series  that  had  previously  been  written  and  torn  up. 

Now  this  hope  had  been  whirled  away  like  thisde- 
down,  and  the  case  was  grievous  enough  to  distract  a 
greater  stoic  than  Picotee.  The  end  of  it  was  that 
she  left  the  school  on  insufficient  notice,  gave  up  her 
cottage  home  on  the  plea — true  in   the  letter — that 

138 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

she  was  going  to  join  a  relative  in  London,  and  went 
off  thither  by  a  morning  train,  leaving  her  things 
packed  ready  to  be  sent  on  when  she  should  write  for 
them. 

Picotee  arrived  in  town  late  on  a  cold  February 
afternoon,  bearing  a  small  bag  in  her  hand.  She 
crossed  Westminster  Bridge  on  foot,  just  after  dusk, 
and  saw  a  luminous  haze  hanging  over  each  well- 
liohted  street  as  it  withdrew  into  distance  behind  the 
nearer  houses,  showing  its  direction  as  a  train  of 
morning  mist  shows  the  course  of  a  distant  stream 
when  the  stream  itself  is  hidden.  The  lights  along 
the  riverside  towards  Charing  Cross  sent  an  inverted 
palisade  of  gleaming  swords  down  into  the  shaking 
water,  and  the  pavement  ticked  to  the  touch  of  pedes- 
trians' feet,  most  of  whom  tripped  along  as  if  walking 
only  to  practise  a  favourite  quick  step,  and  held  hand- 
kerchiefs to  their  mouths  to  strain  off  the  river  mist 
from  their  lungs.  She  inquired  her  way  to  Exonbury 
Crescent,  and  between  five  and  six  o'clock  reached  her 
sister's  door. 

Two  or  three  minutes  were  passed  in  accumulating 
resolution  sufficient  to  ring  the  bell,  which  when  at  last 
she  did,  was  not  performed  in  a  way  at  all  calculated 
to  make  the  young  man  Joey  hasten  to  the  door. 
After  the  lapse  of  a  certain  time  he  did,  however,  find 
leisure  to  stroll  and  see  what  the  caller  might  want, 
out  of  curiosity  to  know  who  there  could  be  in  London 
afraid  to  ring  a  bell  twice. 

Joey's  delight  exceeded  even  his  surprise,  the  ruling 
maxim  of  his  life  being  the  more  the  merrier,  under  all 
circumstances.  The  beaming  young  man  was  about 
to  run  off  and  announce  her  upstairs  and  downstairs, 
left  and  right,  when  Picotee  called  him  hastily  to  her. 
In  the  hall  her  quick  young  eye  had  caught  sight  of 
an  umbrella  with  a  peculiar  horn  handle — an  umbrella 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  meet  on  Sandbourne 
Moor  on  many  happy  afternoons.  Christopher  was 
evidently  in  the  house. 

139 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*Joey/  she  said,  as  if  she  were  ready  to  faint, 
'don't  tell  Berta  I  am  come.  She  has  company,  has 
she  not  ? ' 

'  O  no — only  Mr  Julian  ! '  said  the  brother.  '  He's 
quite  one  of  the  family  ! ' 

*  Never  mind — can't  I  go  down  into  the  kitchen 
with  you?'  she  inquired.  There  had  been  bliss  and 
misery  mingled  in  those  tidings,  and  she  scarcely  knew 
for  a  moment  which  way  they  affected  her.  What  she 
did  know  was  that  she  had  run  her  dear  fox  to  earth, 
and  a  sense  of  satisfaction  at  that  feat  prevented  her 
just  now  from  counting  the  cost  of  the  performance. 

'Does  Mr.  Julian  come  to  see    her  very  often?' 

said  she. 

'  O  yes — he's  always  a-coming — a  regular  bore  to 

me.' 

'  A  regular  what  ? ' 

*  Bore ! — Ah,  I  forgot,  you  don't  know  our  town 
words.      However,  come  along.* 

They  passed  by  the  doors  on  tiptoe,  and  their 
mother  upstairs  being,  according  to  Joey's  account,  in 
the  midst  of  a  nap,  Picotee  was  unwilling  to  disturb 
her ;  so  they  went  down  at  once  to  the  kitchen,  when 
forward  rushed  Gwendoline  the  cook,  flourishing  her 
floury  hands,  and  Cornelia  the  housemaid,  dancing 
over  her  brush  ;  and  these  having  welcomed  and  made 
Picotee  comfortable,  who  should  ring  the  area-bell, 
and  be  admitted  down  the  steps,  but  Sol  and  Dan. 
The  workman-brothers,  their  day's  duties  being  over, 
had  called  to  see  their  relations,  first,  as  usual,  going 
home  to  their  lodgings  in  Marylebone  and  making 
themselves  as  spruce  as  bridegrooms,  according  to  the 
rules  of  their  newly-acquired  town  experience.  For 
the  London  mechanic  is  only  nine  hours  a  rnechanic, 
though  the  country  mechanic  works,  eats,  drinks,  and 
sleeps  a  mechanic  throughout  the  whole  twenty-four. 

'  God  bless  my  soul— Picotee  ! '  said  Dan,  standing 
fixed.      *  Well— I  say,  this  is  splendid  !  ha-ha  ! ' 

*  Picotee — what  brought  you  here  ? '  said  Sol,  ex- 

140 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

panding  the  circumference  of  his  face  in  satisfaction. 
'Well,  come  along — never  mind  so  long  as  you  be 
here.' 

Picotee  explained  circumstances  as  well  as  she 
could  without  stating  them,  and,  after  a  general  con- 
versation of  a  few  minutes,  Sol  interrupted  with — 
'Anybody  upstairs  with  Mrs.  Petherwin  ?' 

'Mr.  Julian  was  there  just  now,'  said  Joey;  'but 
he  may  be  gone.  Berta  always  lets  him  slip  out  how 
he  can,  the  form  of  ringing  me  up  not  being  necessary 
with  him.     Wait  a  minute — I'll  see.' 

Joseph  vanished  up  the  stairs  ;  and,  the  question 
whether  Christopher  were  gone  or  not  being  an 
uninteresting  one  to  the  majority,  the  talking  went  on 
upon  other  matters.  When  Joey  crept  down  again  a 
minute  later,  Picotee  was  sitting  aloof  and  silent,  and 
he  accordingly  singled  her  out  to  speak  to. 

'  Such  a  lark,  Picotee  ! '  he  whispered.  '  Berta's  a- 
courting  of  her  young  man.  Would  you  like  to  see 
how  they  carries  on  a  bit  ?  ' 

'  Dearly  I  should  ! '  said  Picotee,  the  pupils  of  her 
eyes  dilating. 

Joey  conducted  her  to  the  top  of  the  basement 
stairs,  and  told  her  to  listen.  Within  a  few  yards  of 
them  was  the  morning-room  door,  now  standing  ajar ; 
and  an  intermittent  flirtation  in  soft  male  and  female 
tones  could  be  heard  going  on  inside.  Picotee's  lips 
parted  at  thus  learning  the  condition  of  things,  and 
she  leant  against  the  stair-newel. 

'  My  ?     What's  the  matter  ? '  said  Joey. 

*  If  this  is  London,  I  don't  like  it  at  all!'  moaned 
Picotee. 

'  Well — I  never  see  such  a  girl — fainting  all  over 
the  stairs  for  nothing  in  the  world.' 

'O  —  it  will  soon  be  gone  —  it  is  —  it  is  only 
indigestion.' 

'  Indigestion  ?  Much  you  simple  country  people 
can  know  about  that !  You  should  see  what  devils  of 
indigestions  we  get  in  high  life — eating  'normous  great 

141 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

dinners  and  suppers  that  require  clever  physicians  to 
carry  'em  off,  or  else  they'd  carry  us  off  with  gout  next 
day  ;  and  waking  in  the  morning  with  such  a  splitting 
headache,  and  dry  throat,  and  inward  cusses  about 
human  nature,  that  you  feel  all  the  world  like  some 
great  lord.      However,  now  let's  go  down  again.' 

*  No,  no,  no  ! '  said  the  unhappy  maiden  imploringly. 
'Hark!' 

They  listened  again.  The  voices  of  the  musician 
and  poetess  had  changed  :  there  was  a  decided  frigidity 
in  their  tone — then  came  a  louder  expression — then  a 
silence. 

'You  needn't  be  afeard,'  said  Joey.  'They  won't 
fight ;  bless  you,  they  busts  out  quarrelling  like  this 
times  and  times  when  they've  been  over-friendly,  but 
it  soon  gets  straight  with  'em  again.' 

There  was  now  a  quick  walk  across  the  room,  and 
Joey  and  his  sister  drew  down  their  heads  out  of  sight. 
Then  the  room  door  was  slammed,  quick  footsteps 
went  along  the  hall,  the  front  door  closed  just  as 
loudly,  and  Christopher's  tread  passed  into  nothing 
along  the  pavement. 

*  That's  rather  a  wuss  one  than  they  mostly  have  ; 
but  Lord,  'tis  nothing  at  all.' 

'I  don't  much  like  biding  here  listening!'  said 
Picotee. 

'  O,  'tis  how  we  do  all  over  the  West  End,'  said 
Joey.  '  'Tis  yer  ignorance  of  town  life  that  makes  it 
seem  a  good  deal  to  'ee.' 

'  You  can't  make  much  boast  about  town  life  ;  for 
you  haven't  left  off  talking  just  as  they  do  down  in 
Wessex.' 

'  Well,  I  own  to  that — what's  fair  is  fair,  and  'tis  a 
true  charge  ;  but  if  I  talk  the  Wessex  way  'tisn't  for 
want  of  knowing  better  ;  'tis  because  my  staunch  nater 
makes  me  bide  faithful  to  our  old  ancient  institutions. 
You'd  soon  own  'twasn't  ignorance  in  me,  if  you 
knoAved  what  large  quantities  of  noblemen  I  gets 
mixed   up  with   every    day.      In    fact  'tis    thoughted 

142 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

here  and  there  that  I  shall  do  very  well  in  the 
world.' 

'  Well,  let  us  go  down,'  said  Picotee.  *  Everything 
seems  so  overpowering  here.' 

'  O,  you'll  get  broke  in  soon  enough.  I  felt  just 
the  same  when  I  first  -^ntered  into  society.' 

*  Do  you  think  Berta  Vv  *11  be  angry  with  me  ?  How 
does  she  treat  you  } ' 

'Well,  I  can't  complain.  You  see  she's  my  own 
flesh  and  blood,  and  what  can  I  say  ?  But,  in  secret 
truth,  the  wages  are  terrible  low,  and  barely  pays  for 
the  tobacco  I  consooms.' 

*  O  Joey,  you  wicked  boy!  If  mother  only  knew 
that  you  smoked  ! ' 

'  I  don't  mind  the  wickedness  so  much  as  the 
smell.  And  Mrs.  Petherwin  has  got  such  a  nose  for  a 
fellow's  clothes.  'Tis  one  of  the  greatest  knots  in 
service — the  smoke  question.  'Tis  thoughted  that  we 
shall  make  a  great  stir  about  it  in  the  mansions  of 
the  nobility  soon.' 

'  How  much  more  you  know  of  life  than  I  do — you 
only  fourteen  and  me  seventeen  ! ' 

*  Yes,  that's  true.  You  see,  age  is  nothing — 'tis 
opportunity.  And  even  I  can't  boast,  for  many  a 
younger  man  knows  more.' 

'  But  don't  smoke,  Joey — there's  a  dear  ! ' 
'What  can  I  do.'^     Society  hev  its  rules,  and  if  a 
person  wishes  to  keep  himself  up,  he  must  do  as  the 
world    do.      We  be  all    Fashion's   slave — as   much  a 
slave  as  the  meanest  in  the  land ! ' 

They  got  downstairs  again  ;  and  when  the  dinner 
of  the  French  lady  and  gentleman  had  been  sent  up 
and  cleared  away,  and  also  Ethelberta's  evening  tea 
(which  she  formed  into  a  genuine  meal,  making  a 
dinner  of  luncheon,  when  nobody  was  there,  to  give 
less  trouble  to  her  servant-sisters),  they  all  sat  round 
the  fire.  Then  the  rustle  of  a  dress  was  heard  on  the 
staircase,  and  squirrel-haired  Ethelberta  appeared  in 
person.     It  was  her  custom  thus  to  come  down  every 

143 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

spare  evening,  to  teach  Joey  and  her  sisters  something 
or  other — mostly  French,  which  she  spoke  fluently  ; 
but  the  cook  and  housemaid  showed  more  ambition 
than  intelligence  in  acquiring  that  tongue,  though 
Joey  learnt  it  readily  enough. 

There  was  consternation  in  the  camp  for  a  moment 
or  two,  on  account  of  poor  Picotee,  Ethelberta  being 
not  without  firmness  in  matters  of  discipline.  Her 
eye  instantly  lighted  upon  her  disobedient  sister,  now 
looking  twice  as  disobedient  as  she  really  was. 

'  O,  you  are  here,  Picotee  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  you,' 
said  the  mistress  of  the  house  quiedy. 

This  was  altogether  to  Picotee's  surprise,  for  she 
had  expected  a  round  rating  at  least,  in  her  freshness 
hardly  being  aware  that  this  reserve  of  feeling  was  an 
acquired  habit  of  Ethelberta's,  and  that  civility  stood 
in  town  for  as  much  vexation  as  a  tantrum  represented 
in  Wessex. 

Picotee  lamely  explained  her  outward  reasons  for 
coming,  and  soon  began  to  find  that  Ethelberta's 
opinions  on  the  matter  would  not  be  known  by  the 
tones  of  her  voice.  But  innocent  Picotee  was  as  wily 
as  a  religionist  in  sly  elusions  of  the  letter  whilst 
infringing  the  spirit  of  a  dictum  ;  and  by  talking  very 
sofdy  and  earnestly  about  the  wondrous  good  she 
could  do  by  remaining  in  the  house  as  governess  to  the 
children,  and  playing  the  part  of  lady's-maid  to  her 
sister  at  show  times,  she  so  far  coaxed  Ethelberta  out 
of  her  intentions  that  she  almost  accepted  the  plan  as 
a  good  one.  It  was  agreed  that  for  the  present,  at 
any  rate,  Picotee  should  remain.  Then  a  visit  was 
made  to  Mrs.  Chickerel's  room,  where  the  remainder 
of  the  evening  was  passed ;  and  harmony  reigned  in 
the  household. 


ETHELBERTA'S 

DRA  WING-ROOM 
XIX 

PiC0TEE*s  heart  was  fitfully  glad.  She  was  near  the 
man  who  had  enlarged  her  capacity  from  girl's  to 
woman's,  a  little  note  or  two  of  young  feeling  to  a 
whole  diapason  ;  and  though  nearness  was  perhaps  not 
in  itself  a  great  reason  for  felicity  when  viewed  beside 
the  complete  realization  of  all  that  a  woman  can  desire 
in  such  circumstances,  it  was  much  in  comparison  with 
the  outer  darkness  of  the  previous  time. 

It  became  evident  to  all  the  family  that  some  mis- 
understanding had  arisen  between  Ethelberta  and  Mr. 
Julian.  What  Picotee  hoped  in  the  centre  of  her 
heart  as  to  the  issue  of  the  affair  it  would  be  too  com- 
plex a  thing  to  say.  If  Christopher  became  cold 
towards  her  sister  he  would  not  come  to  the  house ;  if 
he  continued  to  come  it  would  really  be  as  Ethelberta's 
lover — altogether,  a  pretty  game  of  perpetual  check 
for  Picotee. 

He  did  not  make  his  appearance  for  several  days. 
Picotee,  being  a  presentable  girl,  and  decidedly  finer- 
natured  than  her  sisters  below  stairs,  was  allowed  to 
sit  occasionally  with  Ethelberta  in  the  afternoon,  when 
the  teaching  of  the  little  ones  had  been  done  for  the 
day  ;  and  thus  she  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
Ethelberta's  emotional  condition  with  reference  to 
Christopher,  which  Picotee  did  with  an  interest  that 
the  elder  sister  was  very  far  from  suspecting. 

145 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

At  first  Ethelberta  seemed  blithe  enough  without 
him.  One  more  day  went,  and  he  did  not  come,  and 
then  her  manner  was  that  of  apathy.  Another  day 
passed,  and  from  fanciful  elevations  of  the  eyebrow, 
and  long  breathings,  it  became  apparent  that  Ethel- 
berta had  decidedly  passed  the  indifferent  stage,  and 
was  getting  seriously  out  of  sorts  about  him.  Next 
morning  she  looked  all  hope.  He  did  not  come  that 
day  either,  and  Ethelberta  began  to  look   pale  with 

fear. 

*  Why  don't  you  go  out  ? '  said  Picotee  timidly. 

*  I  can  hardly  tell :    I   have  been  expecting  some 

one.' 

'  When  she  comes  I  must  run  up  to  mother  at 
once,  must  I  not  ? '  said  clever  Picotee. 

'  It  is  not  a  lady,'  said  Ethelberta  blandly.  She 
came  then  and  stood  by  Picotee,  and  looked  musingly 
out  of  the  window.  '  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  perhaps,' 
she  continued.  *  It  is  Mr.  Julian.  He  is — I  suppose 
— my  lover,  in  plain  English.' 

*  Ah  ! '  said  Picotee. 

*  Whom  I  am  not  going  to  marry  until  he  gets  rich.* 
*Ah — how  strange  !     If  I  had  him — such  a  lover, 

I  mean — I  would  marry  him  if  he  continued  poor.' 

'  I  don't  doubt  it,  Picotee ;  just  as  you  come  to 
London  without  caring  about  consequences,  or  would 
do  any  other  crazy  thing  and  not  mind  in  the  least 
what  came  of  it.  But  somebody  in  the  family  must 
take  a  practical  view  of  affairs,  or  we  should  all  go  to 
the  dogs.* 

Picotee  recovered  from  the  snubbing  which  she  felt 
that  she  deserved,  and  charged  gallantly  by  saying, 
with  delicate  showings  of  indifference,  '  Do  you  love 
this  Mr.  What's-his-name  of  yours  ?  ' 

'Mr.  Julian.-^  O,  he's  a  very  gentlemanly  man. 
That  is,  except  when  he  is  rude,  and  ill-uses  me,  and 
will  not  come  and  apologize  ! ' 

'  If  I  had  him — a  lover,  I  would  ask  him  to  come 
if  I  wanted  him  to.' 

146 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  did  not  give  her  mind  to  this  remark  ; 
but,  drawing  a  long  breath,  said,  with  a  pouting  laugh, 
which  presaged  unreality,  '  The  idea  of  his  getting  in- 
different now !  I  have  been  intending  to  keep  him  on 
until  I  got  tired  of  his  attentions,  and  then  put  an  end 
to  them  by  marrying  him  ;  but  here  is  he,  before  he 
has  hardly  declared  himself,  forgetting  my  existence 
as  much  as  if  he  had  vowed  in  church  to  love  and 
cherish  me  for  life.  'Tis  an  unnatural  inversion  of  the 
manners  of  society.' 

'When  did  you  first  get  to  care  for  him,  dear 
Berta  ? ' 

'  O — when  I  had  seen  him  once  or  twice.' 

*  Goodness — how  quick  you  were  1 ' 

•Yes — if  I  am  in  the  mind  for  loving  I  am  not  to 
be  hindered  by  shortness  of  acquaintanceship.' 

'  Nor  I  neither! '  sighed  Picotee. 

'  Nor  any  other  woman.  We  don't  need  to  know 
a  man  well  in  order  to  love  him.  That's  only  necessary 
when  we  want  to  leave  off.' 

*0  Berta — you  don't  believe  that! 

'If  a  woman  did  not  invariably  form  an  opinion  of 
her  choice  before  she  has  half  seen  him,  and  love  him 
before  she  has  half  formed  an  opinion,  there  would  be 
no  tears  and  pining  in  the  whole  feminine  world,  and 
poets  would  starve  for  want  of  a  topic.  I  don't,  believe 
»t,  do  you  say?     Ah,  well,  we  shall  see.' 

Picotee  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  this  ;  and 
Ethelberta  left  the  room  to  see  about  her  duties  as 
public  story-teller,  in  which  capacity  she  had  undertaken 
to  appear  again  this  very  evening. 


THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD 

OF  THE  HALL 
THE  ROAD  HOME 

XX 

London  was  illuminated  by  the  broad  full  moon. 
The  pavements  looked  white  as  if  mantled  with  snow  ; 
ordinary  houses  were  sublimated  to  the  rank  of  public 
buildings,  public  buildings  to  palaces,  and  the  faces  of 
women  walking  the  streets  to  those  of  calendared  saints 
and  guardian-angels,  by  the  pure  bleaching  light  from 
the  sky. 

In  the  quiet  little  street  where  opened  the  private 
door  of  the  Hall  chosen  by  Ethelberta  for  her  story- 
telling, a  brougham  was  waiting.  The  time  was  about 
eleven  o'clock  ;  and  presently  a  lady  came  out  from 
the  building,  the  moonbeams  forthwith  flooding  her 
face,  which  they  showed  to  be  that  of  the  Story-teller 
herself.  She  hastened  across  to  the  carriage,  when  a 
second  thought  arrested  her  motion  :  telling  the  man- 
servant and  a  woman  inside  the  brougham  to  wait  for 
her,  she  wrapped  up  her  features  and  glided  round  to 
the  front  of  the  house,  where  she  paused  to  observe 
the  carriages  and  cabs  driving  up  to  receive  the 
fashionable  crowd  stepping  down  from  the  doors. 
Standing  here  in  the  throng  which  her  own  talent  and 
ingenuity  had  drawn  together,  she  appeared  to  enjoy 
herself  by  listening  for  a  minute  or  two  to  the  names 
of  several  persons  of  more  or  less  distinction  as  they 

148 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

were  called  out,  and  then  regarded  attentively  the 
faces  of  others  of  lesser  degree  :  to  scrutinize  the 
latter  was,  as  the  event  proved,  the  real  object  of  the 
journey  from  round  the  corner.  When  nearly  every 
one  had  left  the  doors,  she  turned  back  disappointed. 
Ethelberta  had  been  fancying  that  her  alienated  lover 
Christopher  was  in  the  back  rows  to-night,  but,  as  far 
as  could  now  be  observed,  the  hopeful  supposition  was 
a  false  one. 

When  she  got  round  to  the  back  again,  a  man 
came  forward.  It  was  Lady  well,  whom  she  had 
spoken  to  already  that  evening.  *  Allow  me  to  bring 
you  your  note-book,  Mrs.  Petherwin  :  I  think  you  had 
forgotten  it,'  he  said.  '  I  assure  you  that  nobody  has 
handled  it  but  myself.* 

Ethelberta  thanked  him,  and  took  the  book.  *  I 
use  it  to  look  into  between  the  parts,  in  case  my 
memory  should  fail  me,'  she  explained.  '  I  remember 
that  I  did  lay  it  down,  now  you  remind  me.' 

Ladywell  had  apparently  more  to  say,  and  moved 
by  her  side  towards  the  carriage  ;  but  she  declined  the 
arm  he  offered,  and  said  not  another  word  till  he  went 
on,  haltingly  : 

'  Your  triumph  to-night  was  very  great,  and  it  was 
as  much  a  triumph  to  me  as  to  you  ;  I  cannot  express 
my  feeling — I  cannot  say  half  that  I  would.  If  I 
might  only * 

'  Thank  you  much,'  said  Ethelberta,  with  dignity. 
'  Thank  you  for  bringing  my  book,  but  I  must  go 
home  now.  I  know  that  you  will  see  that  it  is  not 
necessary  for  us  to  be  talking  here.' 

'Yes — you  are  quite  right,'  said  the  repressed 
young  painter,  struck  by  her  seriousness.  '  Blame 
me  ;  I  ought  to  have  known  better.  But  perhaps  a 
man — well,  I  will  sav  it — a  lover  without  indiscretion 
is  no  lover  at  all.  Circumspection  and  devotion  are  a 
contradiction  in  terms.  I  saw  that,  and  hoped  that  I 
might  speak  without  real  harm.* 

'You  calculated  how  to  be  uncalculating,  and  are 

149 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

natural  by  art ! '  she  said,  with  the  sh'ghtest  accent  of 
sarcasm.  *  But  pray  do  not  attend  me  further — it  is 
not  at  all  necessary  or  desirable.  My  maid  is  in  the 
carriage.*  She  bowed,  turned,  and  entered  the  vehicle, 
seating  herself  beside  Picotee. 

•It  was  harsh!'  said  Lady  well  to  himself,  as  he 
looked  after  the  retreating  carriage.  *  I  was  a  fool ; 
but  it  was  harsh.  Yet  what  man  on  earth  likes  a 
woman  to  show  too  great  a  readiness  at  first  ?  She  is 
right:  she  would  be  nothing  without  repulse!'  And 
he  moved  away  in  an  opposite  direction. 

'  What  man  was  that  ?  '  said  Picotee,  as  they  drove 
along. 

'O — a  mere  Mr.  Ladywell :  a  painter  of  good 
family,  to  whom  I  have  been  sitting  for  what  he  calls 
an  Idealization.      He  is  a  dreadful  simpleton.* 

*  Why  did  you  choose  him  ?  * 

*  I  did  not :  he  chose  me.  But  his  silliness  of 
behaviour  is  a  hopeful  sign  for  the  picture.  I  have 
seldom  known  a  man  cunning  with  his  brush  who 
was  not  simple  with  his  tongue  ;  or,  indeed,  any 
skill  in  particular  that  was  not  allied  to  general 
stupidity.' 

'  Your  own  skill  is  not  like  that,  is  it,  Berta  ?  * 

*  In  men — in  men.  I  don't  mean  in  women.  How 
childish  you  are  ! ' 

The  slight  depression  at  finding  that  Christopher 
was  not  present,  which  had  followed  Ethelberta's  public 
triumph  that  evening,  was  covered  over,  if  not  removed, 
by  Lady  well's  declaration,  and  she  reached  home  serene 
in  spirit.  That  she  had  not  the  slightest  notion  of 
accepting  the  impulsive  painter  made  little  difference  ; 
a  lover's  arguments  being  apt  to  affect  a  lady's  mood 
as  much  by  measure  as  by  weight.  A  useless  declar- 
ation, like  a  rare  china  teacup  with  a  hole  in  it,  has 
its  ornamental  value  in  enlarging  a  collection. 

No  sooner  had  they  entered  the  house  than  Mr. 
Julian's  card  was  discovered  ;  and  Joey  informed  them 
that  he  had  come   particularly  to  speak  with    Ethel- 

150 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

berta,   quite    forgetting  that    it  was    her   evening    for 
tale-telling. 

This  was  real  delight,  for  between  her  excitements 
Ethelberta  had  been  seriously  sick-hearted  at  the 
horrible  possibility  of  his  never  calling  again.  But  alas  ! 
for  Christopher.  There  being  nothing  like  a  dead 
silence  for  getting  one's  off-hand  sweetheart  into  a 
corner,  there  is  nothing  like  prematurely  ending  it  for 
getting  into  that  corner  one's  self. 

*  Now  won't  I  punish  him  for  daring  to  stay  away 
so  long ! '  she  exclaimed  as  soon  as  she  got  upstairs. 
'  It  is  as  bad  to  show  constancy  in  your  manners  as 
fickleness  in  your  heart  at  such  a  time  as  this.* 

'  But  I  thought  honesty  was  the  best  policy  ? '  said 
Picotee. 

*  So  it  is,  for  the  man's  purpose.  But  don't  you  go 
believing  in  sayings,  Picotee  :  they  are  all  made  by 
men,  for  their  own  advantages.  Women  who  use 
public  proverbs  as  a  guide  through  events  are  those 
who  have  not  ingenuity  enough  to  make  private  ones 
as  each  event  occurs.' 

She  sat  down,  and  rapidly  wrote   a   line   to   Mr. 

Julian : — 

ExoNBURY  Crescent. 

I  return  from  Mayfair  Hall  to  find  you  have  called.  You 
will,  I  know,  be  good  enough  to  forgive  my  saying  what 
seems  an  unfriendly  thing,  when  I  assure  you  that  the 
circumstances  of  my  peculiar  situation  make  it  desirable,  if  not 
necessary.  It  is  that  I  beg  you  not  to  give  me  the  pleasure 
of  a  visit  from  you  for  some  little  time,  for  unhappily  the 
frequency  of  your  kind  calls  has  been  noticed  ;  and  I  am  now 
in  fear  that  we  may  be  talked  about — invidiously — to  the 
injury  of  us  both.  The  town,  or  a  section  of  it,  has  turned  its 
bull's-eye  upon  me  with  a  brightness  which  I  did  not  in  the 
least  anticipate  ;  and  you  will,  I  am  sure,  perceive  how  indis- 
pensable it  is  that  I  should  be  circumspect. — Yours  sincerely, 

E.  Petherwin. 


A  STREET 

NEIGITS  ROOMS 
CHRISTOPHER'S  ROOMS 

XXI 

As  soon  as  Ethelberta  had  driven  off  from  the  Hall, 
Ladywell  turned  back  again  ;  and,  passing  the  front 
entrance,  overtook  his  acquaintance  Mr.  Neigh,  who 
had  been  one  of  the  last  to  emerge.  The  two  were 
going  in  the  same  direction,  and  they  walked  a  short 
distance  together. 

*  Has  anything  serious  happened?'  said  Neigh, 
noticing  an  abstraction  in  his  companion.  *  You  don't 
seem  in  your  usual  mood  to-night.' 

'  O,  it  is  only  that  affair  between  us,*  said  Ladywell. 
'  Affair  }     Between  you  and  whom  }  ' 

*  Her  and  myself,  of  course.  It  will  be  in  every 
fellow's  mouth  now,  I  suppose  ! ' 

'  But — not  anything  between  yourself  and  Mrs. 
Petherwin  ? ' 

'  A  mere  nothing.  But  surely  you  started.  Neigh, 
when  you  suspected  it  just  this  moment? ' 

'  No — you  merely  fancied  that.' 

*  Did  she  not  speak  well  to-night !  You  were  in 
the  room,  I  believe  ? ' 

'Yes,  I  just  turned  in  for  half-an-hour :  it  seems 
that  everybody  does,  so  I  thought  I  must.  But  I  had 
no  idea  that  you  were  feeble  that  way.' 

*It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Neigh — upon  my  word  it 

152 

/ 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

is — very  kind  ;  and  of  course  I  appreciate  the  delicacy 

which — which ' 

'  What's  kind  ?  '  ^ 

*  I  mean  your  well-intentioned  plan  for  making  me 
believe  that  nothing  is  known  of  this.  But  stories 
will  of  course  get  wind  ;  and  if  our  attachment  has 
made  more  noise  in  the  world  than  I  intended  it 
should,  and  causes  any  public  interest,  why — ha-ha! 
— it  must.  There  is  some  little  romance  in  it  perhaps, 
and  people  will  talk  of  matters  of  that  sort  between 
individuals  of  any  repute — little  as  that  is  with  one  of 
the  pair.' 

'  Of  course  they  will — of  course.  You  are  a  rising 
man,  remember,  whom  some  day  the  world  will  delight 
to  honour.' 

'  Thank  you  for  that,  Neigh.     Thank  you  sincerely.' 
'  Not  at  all.      It  is  merely  justice  to  say  it,  and  one 
must  be  generous  to  deserve  thanks.' 

*  Ha-ha! — that's  very  nicely  put,  and  undeserved 
I  am  sure.  And  yet  I  need  a  word  of  that  sort 
sometimes ! ' 

'  Genius  is  proverbially  modest.' 

'  Pray  don't.  Neigh — I  don't  deserve  it,  indeed. 
Of  course  it  is  well  meant  in  you  to  recognize  any 
slight  powers,  but  I  don't  deserve  it.  Certainly,  my 
self-assurance  was  never  too  great.  'Tis  the  misfortune 
of  all  children  of  art  that  they  should  be  so  dependent 
upon  any  scraps  of  praise  they  can  pick  up  to  help 
them  along.' 

'  And  when  that  child  gets  so  deep  in  love  that 
you  can  only  see  the  whites  of  his  eyes * 

•Ah — now.  Neigh — don't,  I  say  1  * 

'  But  why  did ' 

'  Why  did  I  love  her  ? ' 

*  Yes,  why  did  you  love  her  ?' 

'  Ah,  if  I  could  only  turn  self-vivisector,  and  watch 
the  operation  of  my  heart,  I  should  know  ! ' 

*  My  dear  fellow,  you  must  be  very  bad  indeed  to 
talk  like  that.    A  poet  himself  couldn't  be  cleaner  gone.' 

153 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  Now,  don't  chaff,  Neigh  ;  do  anything,  but  don't 
chaff.  You  know  that  I  am  the  easiest  man  in  the 
world  for  taking  it  at  most  times.  But  I  can't  stand 
it  now  ;  I  don't  feel  up  to  it.  A  glimpse  of  paradise, 
and  then  perdition.     What  would  you  do,  Neigh  ? ' 

'  She  has  refused  you,  then  ?  ' 

'  Well — not  positively  refused  me  ;  but  it  is  so 
near  it  that  a  dull  man  couldn't  tell  the  difference.  I 
hardly  can  myself.* 

*  How  do  you  really  stand  with  her.'^*  said  Neigh, 
with  an  anxiety  ill-concealed. 

*  Off  and  on — neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.  I 
was  determined  to  make  an  effort  the  last  time  she 
sat  to  me,  and  so  I  met  her  quite  coolly,  and  spoke 
only  of  technicalities  with  a  forced  smile — you  know 
that  way  of  mine  for  drawing  people  out,  eh,  Neigh  ? ' 

'Quite,  quite.* 

*  A  forced  smile,  as  much  as  to  say,  **  I  am  obliged 
to  entertain  you,  but  as  a  mere  model  for  art  purposes." 
But  the  deuce  a  bit  did  she  care.  And  then  I 
frequently  looked  to  see  what  time  it  was,  as  the  end 
of  the  sitting  drew  near — rather  a  rude  thing  to  do,  as 
a  rule.' 

'  Of  course.  But  that  was  your  finesse.  Ha-ha ! — 
capital !  Yet  why  not  struggle  against  such  slavery  .^ 
It  is  regularly  pulling  you  down.  What's  a  woman's 
beauty,  after  all } ' 

*  Well  you  may  say  so  !  A  thing  easier  to  feel  than 
define,'  murmured  Ladywell.  '  But  it's  no  use.  Neigh 
— I  can't  help  it  as  long  as  she  repulses  me  so 
exquisitely!  If  she  would  only  care  for  me  a  little,  I 
might  get  to  trouble  less  about  her.' 

*  And  love  her  no  more  than  one  ordinarily  does  a 
girl  by  the  time  one  gets  irrevocably  engaged  to  her. 
But  I  suppose  she  keeps  you  back  so  thoroughly  that 
you  carry  on  the  old  adoration  with  as  much  vigour  as 
if  it  were  a  new  fancy  every  time  ?  * 

'  Partly  yes,  and  partly  no !  It's  very  true,  and  it's 
not  true  1 ' 

154 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  'TIs  to  be  hoped  she  won't  hate  you  outright,  for 
then  you  would  absolutely  die  of  idolizing  her.' 

'  Don't,  Neigh  ! — Still  there's  some  truth  in  it — 
such  is  the  perversity  of  our  hearts.  Fancy  marrying 
such  a  woman  ! ' 

'  We  should  feel  as  eternally  united  to  her  after 
years  and  years  of  marriage  as  to  a  dear  new  angel  met 
at  last  night's  dance.' 

*  Exactly — just  what  I  should  have  said.  But  did 
I  hear  you  say  "We,"  Neigh.'*  You  didn't  say  '*  We 
should  feel  ?  "  ' 

'Say  "we"? — yes — of  course — putting  myself  in 
your  place  just  in  the  way  of  speaking,  you  know.' 

*  Of  course,  of  course  ;  but  one  is  such  a  fool  at 
these  times  that  one  seems  to  detect  rivalry  in  every 
trumpery  sound  !     Were  you  never  a  little  touched  '^.  ' 

*  Not  I.  My  heart  is  in  the  happy  position  of  a 
country  which  has  no  history  or  debt.' 

*  I  suppose  I  should  rejoice  to  hear  it,'  said  Lady- 
well.  '  But  the  consciousness  of  a  fellow-sufferer 
being  in  just  such  another  hole  is  such  a  relief 
always,  and  softens  the  sense  of  one's  folly  so  very 
much.' 

*  There's  less  Christianity  in  that  sentiment  than  in 
your  confessing  to  it,  old  fellow.  I  know  the  truth  of 
it  nevertheless,  and  that's  why  married  men  advise 
others  to  marry.  Were  all  the  world  tied  up,  the 
pleasantly  tied  ones  would  be  equivalent  to  those  at 
present  free.  But  what  if  your  fellow-sufferer  is  not 
only  in  another  such  a  hole,  but  in  the  same  one  ? ' 

*  No,  Neigh — never!  Don't  trifle  with  a  friend 
who ' 

'  That  is,  refused  like  yourself,  as  well  as  in  love.' 
*Ah,  thanks,  thanks!     It  suddenly  occurred  to  me 
that  we  might  be  dead  against  one  another  as  rivals, 
and  a  friendship  of  many  long — days  be  snapped  like 
a — like  a  reed.' 

*  No — no — only  a  jest,'  said  Neigh,  with  a  strangely 
accelerated  speech.     '  Love-making  is  an  ornamental 

155 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

pursuit  that  matter-of-fact  fellows  like  me  are  quite 
unfit  for.  A  man  must  have  courted  at  least  half-a- 
dozen  women  before  he's  a  match  for  one  ;  and  since 
triumph  lies  so  far  ahead,  I  shall  keep  out  of  the 
contest  altogether.' 

'  Your  life  would  be  pleasanter  if  you  were  engaged. 
It  is  a  nice  thing,  after  all.' 

'It  is.  The  worst  of  it  would  be  that,  when  the 
time  came  for  breaking  it  off,  a  fellow  might  get  into 
an  action  for  breach — women  are  so  fond  of  that  sort 
of  thing  now  ;  and  I  hate  love-affairs  that  don't  end 
peaceably  ! ' 

'  But  end  it  by  peaceably  marrying,  my  dear 
fellow ! 

'  It  would  seem  so  singular.  Besides,  I  have  a 
horror  of  antiquity  :  and  you  see,  as  long  as  a  man 
keeps  single,  he  belongs  in  a  measure  to  the  rising 
generation,  however  old  he  may  be  ;  but  as  soon  as  he 
marries  and  has  children,  he  belongs  to  the  last 
generation,  however  young  he  may  be.  Old  Jones's 
son  is  a  deal  younger  than  young  Brown's  father, 
though  they  are  both  the  same  age.' 

'At  any  rate,  honest  courtship  cures  a  man  of  many 
evils  he  had  no  power  to  stem  before.' 

*  By  substituting  an  incurable  matrimony  ! ' 

*  Ah — two  persons  must  have  a  mind  for  that 
before  it  can  happen ! '  said  Ladywell,  sorrowfully 
shaking  his  head. 

'  I  think  you'll  find  that  if  one  has  a  mind  for  it.  It 
will  be  quite  sufficient.  But  here  we  are  at  my  rooms. 
Come  in  for  half-an-hour  .»* ' 

'  Not  to-night,  thanks  !  * 

They  parted,  and  Neigh  went  in.  When  he  got 
upstairs  he  murmured  in  his  deepest  chest  note,  '  O, 
lords,  that  I  should  come  to  this !  But  I  shall  never 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  marry  her !  What  a  flat  that  poor 
young  devil  was  not  to  discover  that  we  were  tarred 
with  the  same  brush.  O,  the  deuce,  the  deuce ! '  he 
continued,  walking  about  the  room  as  if  passionately 

156 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

stamping",  but  not  quite  doing  it  because  another  man 
had  rooms  below. 

Neigh  drew  from  his  pocket-book  an  envelope  em- 
bossed with  the  name  of  a  fashionable  photographer, 
and  out  of  this  pulled  a  portrait  of  the  lady  who  had, 
in  fact,  enslaved  his  secret  self  equally  with  his  frank 
young  friend  the  painter.  After  contemplating  it 
awhile  with  a  face  of  cynical  adoration,  he  murmured, 
shaking  his  head,  '  Ah,  my  lady  ;  if  you  only  knew 
this,  I  should  be  snapped  up  like  a  snail !  Not  a 
minute's  peace  for  me  till  I  had  married  you.  I 
wonder  if  I  shall ! — I  wonder.' 

Neigh  was  a  man  of  five-and-thirty — Ladywell's 
senior  by  ten  years  ;  and,  being  of  a  phlegmatic 
temperament,  he  had  glided  thus  far  through  the 
period  of  eligibility  with  impunity.  He  knew  as  well 
as  any  man  how  far  he  could  go  with  a  woman  and  yet 
keep  clear  of  having  to  meet  her  in  church  without  her 
bonnet ;  but  it  is  doubtful  if  his  mind  that  night  were 
less  disturbed  with  the  question  how  to  guide  himself 
out  of  the  natural  course  which  his  passion  for  Ethel- 
berta  might  tempt  him  into,  than  was  Ladywell's  by 
his  ardent  wish  to  secure  her. 

About  the  time  at  which  Neigh  and  Ladywell 
parted  company,  Christopher  Julian  was  entering  his 
little  place  in  Bloomsbury.  The  quaint  figure  of 
Faith,  in  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  was  kneeling  on  the 
hearth-rug  endeavouring  to  stir  a  dull  fire  into  a 
bright  one. 

*  What — Faith !  you  have  never  been  out  alone  ? 
he  said. 

Faith's  soft,  quick-shutting  eyes  looked  unutterable 
things,  and  she  replied,  '  I  have  been  to  hear  Mrs. 
Petherwin's  story-telling  again.' 

*  And  walked  all  the  way  home  through  the  streets 
at  this  time  of  night,  I  suppose  ! ' 

*  Well,  nobody  molested  me,  either  going  or  coming 
back.* 

157 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Faith,  I  gave  you  strict  orders  not  to  go  into  the 
streets  after  two  o'clock  in  the  day,  and  now  here  you 
are  taking  no  notice  of  what  I  say  at  all ! ' 

'The  truth  is,  Kit,  I  wanted  to  see  with  my 
spectacles  what  this  woman  was  really  like,  and  I 
went  without  them  last  time.  I  slipped  in  behind, 
and  nobody  saw  me.' 

*  I  don't  think  much  of  her  after  what  I  have  seen 
to-night,'  said  Christopher,  moodily  recurring  to  a 
previous  thought. 

*  Why  ?     What  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

'  I  thought  I  would  call  on  her  this  afternoon,  but 
when  I  got  there  I  found  she  had  left  early  for  the 
performance.  So  in  the  evening,  when  I  thought  it 
would  be  all  over,  I  went  to  the  private  door  of  the 
Hall  to  speak  to  her  as  she  came  out,  and  ask  her 
flatly  a  question  or  two  which  I  was  fool  enough  to 
think  I  must  ask  her  before  I  went  to  bed.  Just  as  I 
was  drawing  near  she  came  out,  and,  instead  of  getting 
into  the  brougham  that  was  waiting  for  her,  she  went 
round  the  corner.  When  she  came  back  a  man  met 
her  and  gave  her  something,  and  they  stayed  talking 
too-ether  two  or  three  minutes.  The  meeting  may 
certainly  not  have  been  intentional  on  her  part ;  but 
she  has  no  business  to  be  going  on  so  coolly  when — 
^hen — in  fact,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
woman's  affection  is  not  worth  having.  The  only 
feeling  which  has  any  dignity  or  permanence  or  worth 
is  family  affection  between  close  blood-relations.* 

'And  yet  you  snub  me  sometimes,  Mr.  Kit.* 

*  And,  for  the  matter  of  that,  you  snub  me.  Still 
you  know  what  I  mean — there's  none  of  that  off-and-on 
humbug  between  us.  If  we  grumble  with  one  another 
we  are^united  just  the  same:  if  we  don't  write  when 
we  are  parted,  we  are  just  the  same  when  we  meet — 
there  has  been  some  rational  reason  for  silence ;  but 
as  for  lovers  and  sweethearts,  there  is  nothing  worth  a 
rush  in  what  they  feel ! ' 

Faith  said  nothing  in  reply  to  this.     The  opinions 

158 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

she  had  formed  upon  the  wisdom  of  her  brother's 
pursuit  of  Ethelberta  would  have  come  just  then  with 
an  ill  grace.  It  must,  however,  have  been  evident  to 
Christopher,  had  he  not  been  too  preoccupied  for 
observation,  that  Faith's  impressions  of  Ethelberta 
were  not  quite  favourable  as  regarded  her  woman- 
hood,  notwithstanding  that  she  greatly  admired  her 
talents. 


ETHELBERTAS  HOUSE 

XXII 

Ethelberta  came  Indoors  one  day  from  the  University 
boat-race,  and  sat  down,  without  speaking,  beside 
Picotee,  as  if  lost  in  thought. 

*  Did  you  enjoy  the  sight  ? '  said  Picotee. 

'  I  scarcely  know.  We  couldn't  see  at  all  from 
Mrs.  Belmaine's  carriage,  so  two  of  us — very  rashly — 
agreed  to  get  out  and  be  rowed  across  to  the  other 
side  where  the  people  were  quite  few.  But  when  the 
boatman  had  us  in  the  middle  of  the  river  he  declared 
he  couldn't  land  us  on  the  other  side  because  of  the 
barges  ;  so  there  we  were  in  a  dreadful  state — tossed 
up  and  down  like  corks  upon  great  waves  made  by 
steamers  till  I  made  up  my  mind  for  a  drowning. 
Well,  at  last  we  got  back  again,  but  couldn't  reach  the 
carriage  for  the  crowd  ;  and  I  don't  know  what  we 
should  have  done  if  a  gentleman  hadn't  come — sent  by 
Mrs.  Belmaine,  who  was  in  a  great  fright  about  us  ; 
then  he  was  introduced  to  me,  and — I  wonder  how  it 
will  end ! ' 

'  Was  there  anything  so  wonderful  in  the  beginning, 

then  ? ' 

'  Yes.  One  of  the  coolest  and  most  practised  men 
in  London  was  ill-mannered  towards  me  from  sheer 
absence  of  mind — and  could  there  be  higher  flattery  ? 
When  a  man  of  that  sort  does  not  give  you  the  polite- 
ness you  deserve,  it  means  that  in  his  heart  he  is  re- 
belling against  another  feeling  which  his  pride  suggests 

160 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

that  you  do  not  deserve.  O,  I  forgot  to  say  that  he  is 
a  Mr.  Neigh,  a  nephew  of  Mr.  Doncastle's,  who  lives 
at  ease  about  Piccadilly  and  Pall  Mall,  and  has  a  few 
acres  somewhere — but  I  don't  know  much  of  him. 
The  worst  of  my  position  now  is  that  I  excite  this 
superficial  interest  in  many  people  and  a  deep  friend- 
ship in  nobody.  If  what  all  my  supporters  feel  could 
be  collected  into  the  hearts  of  two  or  three  they  would 
love  me  better  than  they  love  themselves  ;  but  now  it 
pervades  all  and  operates  in  none.' 

*  But  it  must  operate  in  this  gentleman  ?  ' 

'  Well,  yes—just  for  the  present.  But  men  in 
town  have  so  many  contrivances  for  getting  out  of 
love  that  you  can't  calculate  upon  keeping  them  in  for 
two  days  together.  However,  it  is  all  the  same  to 
me.     There's  only — but  let  that  be.' 

*  What  is  there  only  ? '  said  Picotee  coaxingly. 

*  Only  one  man,'  murmured  Ethelberta,  in  much 
lower  tones.  *  I  mean,  whose  wife  I  should  care  to 
be  ;  and  the  very  qualities  I  like  in  him  will,  I  fear, 
prevent  his  ever  being  in  a  position  to  ask  me.' 

'  Is  he  the  man  you  punished  the  week  before  last 
by  forbidding  him  to  come  ?  ' 

*  Perhaps  he  is  :  but  he  does  not  want  civility 
from  me.  Where  there's  much  feeling  there's  little 
ceremony.' 

'  It  certainly  seems  that  he  does  not  want  civility 
from  you  to  make  him  attentive  to  you,'  said  Picotee, 
stiflinor  a  sigh  ;  '  for  here  is  a  letter  in  his  handwriting, 
I  believe.' 

'  \  ou  might  have  given  it  to  me  at  once,'  said 
Ethelberta,  opening  the  envelope  hastily.  It  con- 
tained very  few  sentences  :  they  were  to  the  effect  that 
Christopher  had  received  her  letter  forbidding  him  to 
call  ;  that  he  had  therefore  at  first  resolved  not  to  call 
or  even  see  her  more,  since  he  had  become  such  a 
shadow  in  her  path.  Still,  as  it  was  always  best  to  do 
nothing  hastily,  he  had  on  second  thoughts  decided  to 
ask  her  to  grant  him  a  last  special  favour,  and  see  him 

i6j 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

again  just  once,  for  a  few  minutes  only  that  afternoon, 
in  which  he  might  at  least  say  Farewell.  To  avoid  all 
possibility  of  compromising  her  in  anybody's  eyes,  he 
would  call  at  half-past  six,  when  other  callers  were 
likely  to  be  gone,  knowing  that  from  the  peculiar  con- 
stitution of  the  household  the  hour  would  not  interfere 
with  her  arrangements.  There  being  no  time  for  an 
answer,  he  would  assume  that  she  would  see  him,  and 
keep  the  engagement ;  the  request  being  one  which 
could  not  rationally  be  objected  to. 

'There — read  it!'  said  Ethelberta,  with  glad  dis- 
pleasure. '  Did  you  ever  hear  such  audacity  ?  Fix- 
ing a  time  so  soon  that  I  cannot  reply,  and  thus 
making  capital  out  of  a  pretended  necessity,  when  it  is 
really  an  arbitrary  arrangement  of  his  own.  That's 
real  rebellion — forcing  himself  into  my  house  when  I 
said  strictly  he  was  not  to  come  ;  and  then,  that  it 
cannot  rationally  be  objected  to — I  don't  like  his 
"  rationally."  ' 

'  Where  there's  much  love  there's  little  ceremony, 
didn't  you  say  just  now  ?  '  observed  innocent  Picotee. 

'  And  where  there's  little  love,  no  ceremony  at  all. 
These  manners  of  his  are  dreadful,  and  I  believe  he 
will  never  improve.' 

*It  makes  you  care  not  a  bit  about  him,  does  it 
not,  Berta  ? '  said  Picotee  hopefully. 

'  I  don't  answer  for  that,'  said  Ethelberta.  '  I  feel, 
as  many  others  do,  that  a  want  of  ceremony  which  is 
produced  by  abstraction  of  mind  is  no  defect  in  a  poet 
or  musician,  fatal  as  it  may  be  to  an  ordinary  man.' 
*  Mighty  me!  You  soon  forgive  him.' 
'  Picotee,  don't  you  be  so  quick  to  speak.  Before 
I  have  finished,  how  do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to 
say?  I'll  never  tell  you  anything  again,  if  you  take 
me  up  so.  Of  course  I  am  going  to  punish  him  at 
once,  and  make  him  remember  that  I  am  a  lady,  even 
if  I  do  like  him  a  little.' 

'  How  do  you  mean  to  punish  him?'  said  Picotee, 

with  interest. 

162 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  By  writing  and  telling  him  that  on  no  account  is 
he  to  come.' 

*  But  there  is  not  time  for  a  letter * 

'That  doesn't  matter.  It  will  show  him  that  I  did 
not  7nean  him  to  come.'     r 

At  hearing  the  very  merciful  nature  of  the  punish- 
ment, Picotee  sighed  without  replying  ;  and  Ethelberta 
despatched  her  note.  The  hour  of  appointment  drew 
near,  and  Ethelberta  showed  symptoms  of  unrest. 
Six  o'clock  struck  and  passed.  She  walked  here 
and  there  for  nothing,  and  it  was  plain  that  a 
dread  was  filling  her :  her  letter  might  accidentally 
have  had,  in  addition  to  the  moral  effect  which  she  had 
intended,  the  practical  effect  which  she  did  not  intend, 
by  arriving  before,  instead  of  after,  his  purposed  visit 
to  her,  thereby  stopping  him  in  spite  of  all  her  care. 

*  How  long  are  letters  going  to  Bloomsbury?'  she 
said  suddenly. 

'-Two  hours,  Joey  tells  me,'  replied  Picotee,  who 
had  already  inquired  on  her  own  private  account. 

'  There  ! '  exclaimed  Ethelberta  petulantly.  '  How 
I  dislike  a  man  to  misrepresent  things  !  He  said  there 
was  not  time  for  a  reply  ! ' 

'  Perhaps  he  didn't  know,'  said  Picotee,  in  angel 
tones  ;  '  and  so  it  happens  all  right,  and  he  has  got  it, 
and  he  will  not  come  after  all.' 

They  waited  and  waited,  but  Christopher  did  not 
appear  that  night ;  the  true  case  being  that  his  declara- 
tion about  insufficient  time  for  a  reply  was  merely  an 
ingenious  suggestion  to  her  not  to  be  so  cruel  as  to 
forbid  him.  He  was  far  from  suspecting  when  the 
letter  of  denial  did  reach  him — about  an  hour  before 
the  time  of  appointment — that  it  was  sent  by  a  refine- 
ment of  art,  of  which  the  real  intention  was  futility, 
and  that  but  for  his  own  misstatement  it  would  have 
been  carefullv  delaved. 

The  next  day  another  letter  rime  from  the 
musician,  decidedly  short  and  to  the  point.  The  irate 
lover  stated  that  he  would  not  be  made  a  fool  of  any 

163 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

longer :  under  any  circumstances  he  meant  to  come 
that  self-same  afternoon,  and  should  decidedly  expect 
her  to  see  him. 

*I  will  not  see  him!  said  Ethelberta.  *Why  did 
he  not  call  last  night  ? ' 

*  Because  you  told  him  not  to,'  said  Picotee. 

*  Good  gracious,  as  if  a  woman's  words  are  to  be 
translated  as  literally  as  Homer!  Surely  he  is  aware 
that  more  often  that  not  *'  No  "  is  said  to  a  man's  im- 
portunities because  it  is  traditionally  the  correct 
modest  reply,  and  for  nothing  else  in  the  world.  If 
all  men  took  words  as  superficially  as  he  does,  we 
should  die  of  decorum  in  shoals.' 

'  Ah,  Berta !  how  could  you  write  a  letter  that  you 
did  not  mean  should  be  obeyed  ? ' 

*  I  did  in  a  measure  mean  it,  although  I  could 
have  shown  Christian  forgiveness  if  it  had  not  been. 
Never  mind  ;  I  will  not  see  him.  I'll  plague  my  heart 
for  the  credit  of  my  sex.' 

To  ensure  the  fulfilment  of  this  resolve,  Ethelberta 
determined  to  give  way  to  a  headache  that  she  was 
beginning  to  be  aware  of,  go  to  her  room,  disorganize 
her  dress,  and  ruin  her  hair  by  lying  down  ;  so  putting 
it  out  of  her  power  to  descend  and  meet  Christopher 
on  any  momentary  impulse. 

Picotee  sat  in  the  room  with  her,  reading,  or 
pretending  to  read,  and  Ethelberta  pretended  to  sleep. 
Christopher's  knock  came  up  the  stairs,  and  with  it  the 
end  of  the  farce. 

'  I'll  tell  you  what,'  said  Ethelberta  in  the  prompt 
and  broadly-awake  tone  of  one  who  had  been  concen- 
trated on  the  expectation  of  that  sound  for  a  length  of 
time,  '  it  was  a  mistake  in  me  to  do  this  !  Joey  will  be 
sure  to  make  a  muddle  of  it.' 

Joey  was  heard  coming  up  the  stairs.  Picotee 
opened  the  door,  and  said,  with  an  anxiety  transcending 
Ethelberta's,  'Well.?' 

'  O,  will  you  tell  Mrs.  Petherwin  that  Mr.  Julian 
says  he'll  wait.' 

164 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  You  were  not  to  ask  him  to  wait,'  said  Ethelberta, 
within. 

*I  know  that,*  said  Joey,  'and  I  didn't.  He's 
doing  that  out  of  his  own  head.' 

'  Then  let  Mr.  Julian  wait,  by  all  means,'  said 
Ethelberta.  '  Allow  him  to  wait  if  he  likes,  but  tell 
him  it  is  uncertain  if  I  shall  be  able  to  come  down.' 

Joey  then  retired,  and  the  two  sisters  remained  in 
silence. 

*  I  wonder  if  he's  gone,'  Ethelberta  said,  at  the  end 
of  a  long  time. 

*  I  thought  you  were  asleep,'  said  Picotee.  *  Shall 
we  ask  Joey?     I  have  not  heard  the  door  close.' 

Joey  was  summoned,  and  after  a  leisurely  ascent, 
interspersed  by  various  gymnastic  performances  over 
the  handrail  here  and  there,  appeared  again. 

*  He's  there  jest  the  same  :  he  don't  seem  to  be  in 
no  hurry  at  all,'  said  Joey. 

'What  is  he  doing.'*'  inquired  Picotee  solicitously. 

*  O,  only  looking  at  his  watch  sometimes,  and 
humming  tunes,  and  playing  rat-a-tat-tat  upon  the 
table.      He  says  he  don't  mind  waiting  a  bit.' 

'You  must  have  made  a  mistake  in  the  message,' 
said  Ethelberta,  within. 

'  Well,  no.  I  am  correct  as  a  jineral  thing.  I 
jest  said  perhaps  you  would  be  engaged  all  the 
evening,  and  perhaps  you  wouldn't.' 

When  Joey  had  again  retired,  and  they  had  waited 
another  ten  minutes,  Ethelberta  said,  '  Picotee,  do  you 
go  down  and  speak  a  few  words  to  him.  I  am  deter- 
mined he  shall  not  see  me.  You  know  him  a  little ; 
you  remember  when  he  came  to  the  Lodge  ? ' 

*  What  must  I  say  to  him  ?  ' 

Ethelberta  paused  before  replying.  '  Try  to  find 
out  if — if  he  is  much  grieved  at  not  seeing  me,  and 
say — give  him  to  understand  that  I  will  forgive  him, 
Picotee.* 

*  Very  well.* 
'And  Picotee ' 

165 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*Yes.' 

'  If  he  says  he  must  see  me — I  think  I  will  get  up. 
But  only  if  he  says  must :  you  remember  that.' 

Picotee  departed  on  her  errand.  She  paused  on 
the  staircase  trembling,  and  thinking  between  the 
thrills  how  very  far  would  have  been  the  conduct  of 
her  poor  slighted  self  from  proud  recalcitration  had 
Mr.  Julian's  gentle  request  been  addressed  to  her 
instead  of  to  Ethelberta;  and  she  went  some  way  in 
the  painful  discovery  of  how  much  more  tantalizing  it 
was  to  watch  an  envied  situation  that  was  held  by 
another  than  to  be  out  of  sight  of  it  altogether.  Here 
was  Christopher  waiting  to  bestow  love,  and  Ethelberta 
not  going  down  to  receive  it :  a  commodity  unequalled 
in  value  by  any  other  in  the  whole  wide  world  was 
being  wantonly  wasted  within  that  very  house.  If 
she  could  only  have  stood  to-night  as  the  beloved 
Ethelberta,  and  not  as  the  despised  Picotee,  how 
different  would  be  this  going  down !  Thus  she  went 
along,  red  and  pale  moving  in  her  cheeks  as  in  the 
Northern  Lights  at  their  strongest  time. 

Meanwhile  Christopher  had  sat  waiting  minute  by 
minute  till  the  evening  shades  grew  browner,  and  the 
fire  sank  low.  Joey,  finding  himself  not  particularly 
wanted  upon  the  premises  after  the  second  inquiry, 
had  slipped  out  to  witness  a  nigger  performance  round 
the  corner,  and  Julian  began  to  think  himself  forgotten 
by  all  the  household.  The  perception  gradually  cooled 
his  emotions  and  enabled  him  to  hold  his  hat  quite 
steadily. 

When  Picotee  gently  thrust  open  the  door  she  was 
surprised  to  find  the  room  in  darkness,  the  fire  gone 
completely  out,  and  the  form  of  Christopher  only 
visible  by  a  faint  patch  of  light,  which,  coming  from  a 
lamp  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way  and  falling  upon 
the  mirror,  was  thrown  as  a  pale  nebulosity  upon  his 
shoulder.  Picotee  was  too  flurried  at  sight  of  the 
familiar  outline  to  know  what  to  do,  and,  instead  of 
going  or  calling  for  a  light,  she  mechanically  advanced 

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A  COiMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

into  the  room.  Christopher  did  not  turn  or  move  in 
any  way,  and  then  she  perceived  that  he  had  begun  to 
doze  in  his  chair. 

Instantly,  with  the  precipitancy  of  the  timorous, 
she  said,  'Mr.  Juh'an ! '  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder — murmuring  then,  '  O,  I  beg  pardon,  I — I 
will  get  a  light.' 

Christopher's  consciousness  returned,  and  his  first 
act,  before  rising,  was  to  exclaim,  in  a  confused 
manner,  'Ah — you  have  come — thank  you,  Berta  ! ' 
then  impulsively  to  seize  her  hand,  as  it  hung  beside 
his  head,  and  kiss  it  passionately.  He  stood  up,  still 
holding  her  fingers. 

Picotee  gasped  out  something,  but  was  completely 
deprived  of  articulate  utterance,  and  in  another 
moment,  being  unable  to  control  herself  at  this  sort  of 
first  meeting  with  the  man  she  had  gone  through  fire 
and  water  to  be  near,  and  more  particularly  by  the 
overpowering  kiss  upon  her  hand,  burst  into  hysterical 
sobbing.  Julian,  in  his  inability  to  imagine  so  much 
emotion — or  at  least  the  exhibition  of  it — in  Ethel- 
berta,  gently  drew  Picotee  further  forward  by  the 
hand  he  held,  and  utilized  the  solitary  spot  of  light 
from  the  mirror  by  making  it  fall  upon  her  face. 
Recognizing  the  childish  features,  he  at  once,  with 
an  exclamation,  dropped  her  hand  and  started  back. 
Being  in  point  of  fact  a  complete  bundle  of  nerves  and 
nothing  else,  his  thin  figure  shook  like  a  harp-string 
in  painful  excitement  at  a  contretemps  which  would 
scarcely  have  quickened  the  pulse  of  an  ordinary  man. 

Poor  Picotee,  feeling  herself  in  the  wind  of  a  civil 

d ,  started  back  also,  sobbing  more  than  ever.      It 

was  a  little  too  much  that  the  first  result  of  his 
discovery  of  the  mistake  should  be  absolute  repulse. 
She  leant  against  the  mantelpiece,  when  Julian,  much 
bewildered  at  her  superfluity  of  emotion,  assisted  her 
to  a  seat  in  sheer  humanity.  But  Christopher  was  by 
no  means  pleased  when  he  again  thought  round  the 
circle  of  circumstances. 

167 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  How  could  you  allow  such  an  absurd  thing  to 
happen  ? '  he  said,  in  a  stern,  though  trembling  voice. 
*  You  knew  I  might  mistake.  I  had  no  idea  you  were 
in  the  house :  I  thought  you  were  miles  away,  at 
Sandbourne  or  somewhere  !  But  I  see  :  it  is  just  done 
for  a  joke,  ha-ha  ! ' 

This  made  Picotee  rather  worse  still.  *  O-O-O-O  ! ' 
she  replied,  in  the  tone  of  pouring  from  a  bottle. 
*What  shall  I  do-o-o-o  !  It  is — not  done  for  a — joke 
at  all-1-1-1 ! ' 

'  Not  done  for  a  joke  ?  Then  never  mind — don't 
cry,  Picotee.     What  was  it  done  for,  I  wonder?' 

Picotee,  mistaking  the  purport  of  his  inquiry, 
imagined  him  to  refer  to  her  arrival  in  the  house,  quite 
forgetting,  in  her  guilty  sense  of  having  come  on  his 
account,  that  he  would  have  no  right  or  thought  of 
asking  questions  about  a  natural  visit  to  a  sister,  and 
she  said  :  '  When  you — went  away  from — Sandbourne, 
I — I — I  didn't  know  what  to  do,  and  then  I  ran  away, 
and  came  here,  and  then  Ethelberta — was  angry  with 
me  ;  but  she  says  I  may  stay  ;  but  she  doesn't  know 
— that  I  know  you,  and  how  we  used  to  meet  along 
the  road  every  morning — and  I  am  afraid  to  tell  her 
— O,  what  shall  I  do  ! ' 

*  Never  mind  it,'  said  Christopher,  a  sense  of  the 
true  state  of  her  case  dawning  upon  him  with 
unpleasant  distinctness,  and  bringing  some  irritation 
at  his  awkward  position  ;  though  it  was  impossible  to 
be  long  angry  with  a  girl  who  had  not  reasoning 
foresight  enough  to  perceive  that  doubtful  pleasure 
and  certain  pain  must  be  the  result  of  any  meeting 
whilst  hearts  were  at  cross  purposes  in  this  way. 

'  Where  is  your  sister  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  She  wouldn't  come  down,  unless  she  must^  said 
Picotee.  *  You  have  vexed  her,  and  she  has  a 
headache  besides  that,  and  I  came  instead.' 

*  So  that  I  mightn't  be  wasted  altogether.  Well, 
it's  a  strange  business  between  the  three  of  us.  I 
have  heard  of  one-sided  love,  and  reciprocal  love,  and 

i68 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

all  sorts,  but  this  is  my  first  experience  of  a  con- 
catenated affection.  You  follow  me,  I  follow  Ethel- 
berta,  and  she  follows — Heaven  knows  who  ! ' 

•  Mr.  Ladywell ! '  said  the  mortified  Picotee. 

*  Good  God,  if  I  didn't  think  so  ! '  said  Christopher, 
feeling  to  the  soles  of  his  feet  like  a  man  in  a  legitimate 
drama. 

'  No,  no,  no!*  said  the  frightened  girl  hastily.  *  I 
am  not  sure  it  is  Mr.  Ladywell.  That's  altogether  a 
mistake  of  mine  !  * 

'Ah,  yes,  you  want  to  screen  her,'  said  Christopher, 
with  a  withering  smile  at  the  spot  of  light.  '  Very 
sisterly,  doubtless  ;  but  none  of  that  will  do  for  me. 
I  am  too  old  a  bird  by  far — by  very  far !  Now  are 
you  sure  she  does  not  love  Ladywell  ?' 

•  Yes ! ' 

'Well,  perhaps  I  blame  her  wrongly.  She  may 
have  some  little  good  faith — a  woman  has,  here  and 
there.  How  do  you  know  she  does  not  love 
Ladywell  ? ' 

'  Because  she  would  prefer  Mr.  Neigh  to  him,  any 
day.' 

'Ha!' 

*  No,  no — you  mistake,  sir — she  doesn  love  either 
at  all — Ethelberta  doesn't.  I  meant  that  she  cannot 
love  Mr.  Ladywell  because  he  stands  lower  in  her 
opinion  than  Mr.  Neigh,  and  him  she  certainly  does 
not  care  for.  She  only  loves  you.  If  you  only  knew 
how  true  she  is  you  wouldn't  be  so  suspicious  about 
her,  and  I  wish  I  had  not  come  here — yes,  I  do ! ' 

'  I  cannot  tell  what  to  think  of  it.  Perhaps  I  don't 
know  much  of  this  world  after  all,  or  what  girls  will 
do.     But  you  don't  excuse  her  to  me,  Picotee.' 

Before  this  time  Picotee  had  been  simulating  haste 
in  getting  a  light  ;  but  in  her  dread  of  appearing 
visibly  to  Christopher's  eyes,  and  showing  him  the 
precise  condition  of  her  tear-stained  face,  she  put  it 
off  moment  after  moment,  and  stirred  the  fire,  in  hope 
that    the    faint    illumination  thus  produced  would    be 

169 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

sufficient  to  save  her  from  the  charge  of  stupid  conduct 
as  entertainer. 

Fluttering  about  on  the  horns  of  this  dilemma,  she 
was  greatly  relieved  when  Christopher,  who  read  her 
difficulty,  and  the  general  painfulness  of  the  situation, 
said  that  since  Ethelberta  was  really  suffering  from  a 
headache  he  would  not  wish  to  disturb  her  till  to- 
morrow, and  went  off  downstairs  and  into  the  street 
without  further  ceremony. 

Meanwhile  other  things  had  happened  upstairs. 
No  sooner  had  Picotee  left  her  sister's  room,  than 
Ethelberta  thought  it  would  after  all  have  been  much 
better  if  she  had  gone  down  herself  to  speak  to  this 
admirably  persistent  lover.  Was  she  not  drifting 
somewhat  into  the  character  of  coquette,  even  if  her 
ground  of  offence — a  word  of  Christopher's  about 
somebody  else's  mean  parentage,  which  was  spoken  in 
utter  forgetfulness  of  her  own  position,  but  had 
wounded  her  to  the  quick  nevertheless — was  to  some 
extent  a  tenable  one  ?  She  knew  what  facilities  in 
suffering  Christopher  always  showed  ;  how  a  touch  to 
other  people  was  a  blow  to  him,  a  blow  to  them  his 
deep  wound,  although  he  took  such  pains  to  look 
stolid  and  unconcerned  under  those  inflictions,  and 
tried  to  smile  as  if  he  had  no  feelings  whatever.  It 
would  be  more  generous  to  go  down  to  him,  and  be 
kind.  She  jumped  up  with  that  alertness  which  comes 
so  spontaneously  at  those  sweet  bright  times  when 
desire  and  duty  run  hand  in  hand. 

She  hastily  set  her  hair  and  dress  in  order — not 
such  matchless  order  as  she  could  have  wished  them 
to  be  in,  but  time  was  precious — and  descended  the 
stairs.  When  on  the  point  of  pushing  open  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  which  wanted  about  an  inch  of  being 
closed,  she  was  astounded  to  discover  that  the  room 
was  in  total  darkness,  and  still  more  to  hear  Picotee 
sobbing  inside.  To  retreat  again  was  the  only  action 
she  was  capable  of  at  that  moment :  the  clash  between 
this  picture  and  the  anticipated  scene  of  Picotee  and 

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A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Christopher  sitting  in  frigid  propriety  at  opposite  sides 
of  a  well-lighted  room  was  too  great.  She  flitted 
upstairs  again  with  the  least  possible  rustle,  and  flung 
herself  down  on  the  couch  as  before,  panting  with 
excitement  at  the  new  knowledge  that  had  come  to 
her. 

There  was  only  one  possible  construction  to  be  put 
upon  this  in  Ethelberta's  rapid  mind,  and  that  approxi- 
mated to  the  true  one.  She  had  known  for  some  time 
that  Picotee  once  had  a  lover,  or  something  akin  to  it, 
and  that  he  had  disappointed  her  in  a  way  which  had 
never  been  told.  No  stranger,  save  in  the  capacity  of 
the  one  beloved,  could  wound  a  woman  sufficiently  to 
make  her  weep,  and  it  followed  that  Christopher  was 
the  man  of  Picotee's  choice.  As  Ethelberta  recalled 
the  conversations,  conclusion  after  conclusion  came  like 
pulsations  in  an  aching  head.  '  O,  how  did  it  happen, 
and  who  is  to  blame  ? '  she  exclaimed.  *  I  cannot 
doubt  his  faith,  and  I  cannot  doubt  hers  ;  and  yet  how 
can  I  keep  doubting  them  both  ?' 

It  was  characteristic  of  Ethelberta's  jealous  motherly 
guard  over  her  young  sisters  that,  amid  these  contend- 
ing inquiries,  her  foremost  feeling  was  less  one  of  hope 
for  her  own  love  than  of  championship  for  Picotee's. 


ETHELBERTAS  HOUSE 

{continued) 

XXIII 

PicoTEE  was  heard  on  the  stairs :  Ethelberta  covered 
her  face. 

*  Is  he  waiting?'  she  said  faintly,  on  finding  that 
Picotee  did  not  begin  to  speak. 

'  No ;  he  is  gone,'  said  Picotee. 

*  Ah,  why  is  that  ? '  came  quickly  from  under  the 
handkerchief.  *  He  has  forgotten  me — that's  what 
It  is! 

*  O  no,  he  has  not ! '  said  Picotee,  just  as  bitterly. 
Ethelberta  had  far  too  much  heroism  to  let  much 

in  this  strain  escape  her,  though  her  sister  was  pre- 
pared to  go  any  lengths  in  the  same.  *  I  suppose,' 
continued  Ethelberta,  in  the  quiet  way  of  one  who 
had  only  a  headache  the  matter  with  her,  '  that  he 
remembered  you  after  the  meeting  at  Anglebury  ? ' 
'  Yes,  he  remembered  me.' 

*  Did  you  tell  me  you  had  seen  him  before  that 
time?' 

'  I  had  seen  him  at  Sandbournc  I  don't  think  I 
told  you.' 

'  At  whose  house  did  you  meet  him  ?  * 

*  At  nobody's.  I  only  saw  him  sometimes,*  replied 
Picotee,  in  great  distress. 

Ethelberta,  though  of  all  women  most  miserable, 
was  brimming  with  compassion  for  the  throbbing  girl 
so  nearly  related  to  her,  in  whom  she  continually  saw 
her  own  weak  points  without  the  counterpoise  of  her 

172 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

strong  ones.  But  it  was  necessary  to  repress  herself 
awhile  :  the  intended  ways  of  her  life  were  blocked 
and  broken  up  by  this  jar  of  interests,  and  she  wanted 
time  to  ponder  new  plans.  '  Picotee,  I  would  rather 
be  alone  now,  if  you  don't  mind,'  she  said.  'You 
need  not  leave  me  any  light ;  it  makes  my  eyes  ache, 
I  think.' 

Picotee  left  the  room.  But  Ethelberta  had  not 
long  been  alone  and  in  darkness  when  somebody 
gently  opened  the  door,  and  entered  without  a 
candle. 

*  Berta,'  said  the  soft  voice  of  Picotee  again,  'may 
I  come  in  ? ' 

*0  yes,'  said  Ethelberta.  'Has  everything  gone 
right  with  the  house  this  evening  ? ' 

'  Yes  ;  and  Gwendoline  went  out  just  now  to  buy  a 
few  things,  and  she  is  going  to  call  round  upon  father 
when  he  has  got  his  dinner  cleared  away.' 

'  I  hope  she  will  not  stay  and  talk  to  the  other  ser- 
vants. Some  day  she  will  let  drop  somethi.ig  or  other 
before  father  can  stop  her.' 

*  O  Berta ! '  said  Picotee,  close  beside  her.  She 
was  kneeling  in  front  of  the  couch,  and  now  flinging 
her  arm  across  Ethelberta's  shoulder  and  shaking 
violently,  she  pressed  her  forehead  against  her  sister's 
temple,  and  breathed  out  upon  her  cheek  : 

'  I  came  in  again  to  tell  you  something  which  I 
ought  to  have  told  you  just  now,  and  I  have  come  to 
say  it  at  once  because  I  am  afraid  I  shan't  be  able  to 
to-morrow.  Mr.  Julian  was  the  young  man  I  spoke 
to  you  of  a  long  time  ago,  and  I  should  have  told  you 
all  about  him,  but  you  said  he  was  your  young  man 
too,  and — and  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  then,  because 
I  thought  it  was  wrong  in  me  to  love  your  young  man  ; 
and  Berta,  he  didn't  mean  me  to  love  him  at  all,  but  I 
did  it  myself,  though  I  did  not  want  to  do  it,  either  ; 
it  would  come  to  me !  And  I  didn't  know  he  belonged 
to  you  when  I  began  it,  or  I  would  not  have  let  him 
meet  me  at  all ;  no  I  wouldn't ! ' 

173 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  Meet  you  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  used  to 
meet  you?'  whispered  Ethelberta. 

'Yes,'  said  Picotee ;  'but  he  could  not  help  it. 
We  used  to  meet  on  the  road,  and  there  was  no  other 
road  unless  I  had  gone  ever  so  far  round.  But  it  is 
worse  than  that,  Berta !  That  was  why  I  couldn't  bide 
in  Sandbourne,  and,  and  ran  away  to  you  up  here  ;  it 
was  not  because  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Berta,  but 
because  I — I  wanted ' 

'Yes,  yes,  I  know,'  said  Ethelberta  hurriedly. 

*  And  then  when  I  went  downstairs  he  mistook  me 
for  you  for  a  moment,  and  that  caused — a  confusion  ! ' 

*  O,  well,  it  does  not  much  matter,'  said  Ethelberta, 
kissing  Picotee  soothingly.  '  You  ought  not  of  course 
to  have  come  to  London  in  such  a  manner ;  but,  since 
you  have  come,  we  will  make  the  best  of  it.  Perhaps 
it  may  end  happily  for  you  and  for  him.  Who 
knows  ? ' 

'Then  don't  you  want  him,  Berta?' 

*  O  no  ;  not  at  all ! ' 

'  What — and  don't  you  really  want  him,   Berta  ? 
repeated  Picotee,  starting  up. 

'  I  would  much  rather  he  paid  his  addresses  to  you. 
He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  I  should  wish  to — think  it 
best  to  marry,  even  if  I  were  to  marry,  which  I  have 
no  intention  of  doing  at  present.  He  calls  to  see  me 
because  we  are  old  friends,  but  his  calls  do  not  mean 
anything  more  than  that  he  takes  an  interest  in  me. 
It  is  not  at  all  likely  that  I  shall  see  him  again !  and  I 
certainly  never  shall  see  him  unless  you  are  present.* 

'  That  will  be  very  nice.' 

'  Yes.  And  you  will  be  always  distant  towards 
him,  and  go  to  leave  the  room  when  he  comes,  when 
I  will  call  you  back  ;  but  suppose  we  continue  this  to- 
morrow ?      I  can  tell  you  better  then  what  to  do.' 

When  Picotee  had  left  her  the  second  time,  Ethel- 
berta turned  over  upon  her  breast  and  shook  in  convul- 
sive sobs  which  had  little  relationship  with  tears. 
This  abandonment  ended  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun 

i;4 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

— not  lasting  more  than  a  minute  and  a  half  altogether 
— and  she  got  up  in  an  unconsidered  and  unusual 
impulse  to  seek  relief  from  the  stinging  sarcasm  of  this 
event — the  unhappy  love  of  Picotee — by  mentioning 
something  of  it  to  another  member  of  the  family,  her 
eldest  sister  Gwendoline,  who  was  a  woman  full  of 
sympathy. 

Ethelberta  descended  to  the  kitchen,  it  being  now 
about  ten  o'clock.  The  room  was  empty,  Gwendoline 
not  having  yet  returned,  and  Cornelia  being  busy 
about  her  own  affairs  upstairs.  The  French  family 
had  gone  to  the  theatre,  and  the  house  on  that  account 
was  very  quiet  to-night.  Ethelberta  sat  down  in  the 
dismal  place  without  turning  up  the  gas,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  admitted  Gwendoline. 

The  round-faced  country  cook  floundered  in, 
untying  her  bonnet  as  she  came,  laying  it  down  on  a 
chair,  and  talking  at  the  same  time.  *  Such  a  place 
as  this  London  is,  to  be  sure ! '  she  exclaimed,  turning 
on  the  gas  till  it  whistled.  *  I  wish  I  was  down  in 
Wessex  again.  Lord-a-mercy,  Berta,  I  didn't  see  it 
w^as  you  !  I  thought  it  was  Cornelia.  As  I  was  saying, 
I  thought  that,  after  biding  in  this  underground  cellar 
all  the  week,  making  up  messes  for  them  French  folk, 
and  never  pleasing  'em,  and  never  shall,  because  I 
don't  understand  that  line,  I  thought  I  would  go  out 
and  see  father,  you  know.' 

'  Is  he  very  well  ?  '  said  Ethelberta. 

'Yes  ;  and  he  is  going  to  call  round  when  he  has 
time.  Well,  as  I  was  a-coming  home-along  I  thought, 
''Please  the  Lord  I'll  have  some  chippols  for  supper 
just  for  a  plain  treat,"  and  I  went  round  to  the  late 
greengrocer's  for  'em  ;  and  do  you  know  they  sweared 
me  down  that  they  hadn't  got  such  things  as  chippols 
in  the  shop,  and  had  never  heard  of  'em  in  their  lives. 
At  last  I  said,  "  Why,  how  can  you  tell  me  such  a 
brazen  story  ? — here  they  be,  heaps  of 'em  !  "  It  made 
me  so  vexed  that  I  came  away  there  and  then,  and 
wouldn't  have  one — no,  not  at  a  gift.' 

175 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  They  call  them  young  onions  here,'  said  Ethelberta 
quietly ;  *  you  must  always  remember  that.  But, 
Gwendoline,  I  wanted * 

Ethelberta  felt  sick  at  heart,  and  stopped.  She 
had  come  down  on  the  wings  of  an  impulse  to  unfold 
her  trouble  about  Picotee  to  her  hard-headed  and 
much  older  sister,  less  for  advice  than  to  get  some 
heart-ease  by  interchange  of  words  ;  but  alas,  she  could 
proceed  no  further.  The  wretched  homeliness  of 
Gwendoline's  mind  seemed  at  this  particular  juncture 
to  be  absolutely  intolerable,  and  Ethelberta  was 
suddenly  convinced  that  to  involve  Gwendoline  in  any 
such  discussion  would  simply  be  increasing  her  own 
burden,  and  adding  worse  confusion  to  her  sister's 
already  confused  existence. 

'  What  were  you  going  to  say  ? '  said  the  honest 
and  unsuspecting  GwendoHne. 

'  I  will  put  it  off  until  to-morrow,'  Ethelberta 
murmured  gloomily  ;  *  I  have  a  bad  headache,  and  I 
am  afraid  I  cannot  stay  with  you  after  all.' 

As  she  ascended  the  stairs,  Ethelberta  ached  with 
an  added  pain  not  much  less  than  the  primary  one 
which  had  brought  her  down.  It  was  that  old  sense 
of  disloyalty  to  her  class  and  kin  by  feeling  as  she  felt 
now  which  caused  the  pain,  and  there  was  no  escaping 
it.  Gwendoline  would  have  gone  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  for  her :  she  could  not  confide  a  thought  to 
Gwendoline ! 

*  If  she  only  knew  of  that  unworthy  feeling  of  mine, 
how  she  would  grieve,'  said  Ethelberta  miserably. 

She  next  went  up  to  the  servants'  bedrooms,  and 
to  where  Cornelia  slept.  On  Ethelberta's  entrance 
Cornelia  looked  up  from  a  perfect  wonder  of  a  bonnet, 
which  she  held  in  her  hands.  At  sight  of  Ethelberta 
the  look  of  keen  interest  in  her  work  changed  to  one 
of  gaiety. 

*  I  am  so  glad — I  was  just  coming  down,*  Cornelia 
said  in  a  whisper  ;  whenever  they  spoke  as  relations 
in  this  house  it  was  in  whispers.      '  Now,  how  do  you 

176 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

think  this  bonnet  will  do?  May  I  come  down,  and 
see  how  I  look  in  your  big  glass  ? '  She  clapped  the 
bonnet  upon  her  head.  'Won't  it  do  beautiful  for 
Sunday  afternoon  ? ' 

'  It  looks  ver>^  attractive,  as  far  as  I  can  see  by  this 
light,'  said  Ethelberta.  'But  is  it  not  rather  too 
brilliant  in  colour — blue  and  red  together,  like  that? 
Remember,  as  I  often  tell  you,  people  in  town  never 
wear  such  bright  contrasts  as  they  do  in  the  country.' 

*  O  Berta !  *  said  Cornelia,  in  a  deprecating  tone  ; 
'don't  object.  If  there's  one  thing  I  do  glory  in  it  is 
a  nice  flare-up  about  my  head  o'  Sundays — of  course 
if  the  family's  not  in  mourning,  I  mean.'  But,  seeing 
that  Ethelberta  did  not  smile,  she  turned  the  subject, 
and  added  docilely  :  'Did  you  come  up  for  me  to  do 
anything  ?  I  will  put  off  finishing  my  bonnet  if  I  am 
wanted.' 

'  I  was  going  to  talk  to  you  about  family  matters, 
and  Picotee,'  said  Ethelberta.  '  But,  as  you  are  busy, 
and  I  have  a  headache,  I  will  put  it  off  till  to-morrow.' 

Cornelia  seemed  decidedly  relieved,  for  family 
matters  were  far  from  attractive  at  the  best  of  times  ; 
and  Ethelberta  went  down  to  the  next  floor,  and 
entered  her  mother's  room. 

After  a  short  conversation  Mrs.  Chickerel  said, 
'  You  say  you  want  to  ask  me  something  ? ' 

'Yes:  but  nothing  of  importance,  mother.  I  was 
thinking  about  Picotee,  and  what  would  be  the  best 
thing  to  do ' 

'  Ah,  well  you  may,  Berta.  I  am  so  uneasy  about 
this  life  you  have  led  us  into,  and  full  of  fear  that  your 
plans  may  break  down ;  if  they  do,  whatever  will 
become  of  us  ?  I  know  you  are  doing  your  best ;  but 
I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  coming  to  London  and 
living  with  you  was  wild  and  rash,  and  not  well 
weighed  afore  we  set  about  it.  You  should  have 
counted  the  cost  first,  and  not  advised  it.  If  you  break 
down,  and  we  are  all  discovered  living  so  queer  and 
unnatural,  right   in   the   heart   of  the   aristocracy,  we 

177 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

should  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  country  :  it  would 
kill  me,  and  ruin  us  all — utterly  ruin  us ! ' 

*  O  mother,  I  know  all  that  so  well ! '  exclaimed 
Ethelberta,  tears  of  anguish  filling  her  eyes.  *  Don't 
depress  me  more  than  I  depress  myself  by  such  fears, 
or  you  will  bring  about  the  very  thing  we  strive  to 
avoid !  My  only  chance  is  in  keeping  in  good  spirits  ; 
and  why  don't  you  try  to  help  me  a  little  by  taking  a 
brighter  view  of  things  ?  * 

'  I  know  I  ought  to,  my  dear  girl,  but  I  cannot. 
I  do  so  wish  that  I  never  let  you  tempt  me  and  the 
children  away  from  the  Lodge.  I  cannot  think  why 
I  allowed  myself  to  be  so  persuaded — cannot  think ! 
You  are  not  to  blame — it  is  I.  I  am  much  older  than 
you,  and  ought  to  have  known  better  than  listen  to 
such  a  scheme.  This  undertaking  seems  too  big — 
the  bills  frighten  me.  I  have  never  been  used  to  such 
wild  adventure,  and  I  can't  sleep  at  night  for  fear  that 
your  tale-telling  will  go  wrong,  and  we  shall  all  be 
exposed  and  shamed.  A  story-teller  seems  such  an 
impossible  castle-in-the-air  sort  of  a  trade  for  getting  a 
living  by — I  cannot  think  how  ever  you  came  to  dream 
of  such  an  unheard-of  thing.' 

*  But  it  is  not  a  castle  in  the  air,  and  it  does  get  a 
living!'  said  Ethelberta,  her  lip  quivering. 

'Well,  yes,  while  it  is  just  a  new  thing;  but  I  am 
afraid  it  cannot  last — that's  what  I  fear.  People  will 
find  you  out  as  one  of  a  family  of  servants,  and  their 
pride  will  be  stung  at  having  gone  to  hear  your 
romancing  ;  then  they  will  go  no  more,  and  what  will 
happen  to  us  and  the  poor  little  ones  t ' 

*  We  must  all  scatter  again  ! ' 

'  If  we  could  get  as  we  were  once,  I  wouldn't  mind 
that.  But  we  shall  have  lost  our  character  as  simple 
country  folk  who  know  nothing,  which  are  the  only 
class  of  poor  people  that  squires  will  give  any  help 
to  ;  and  I  much  doubt  if  the  girls  would  get  places 
after  such  a  discovery — it  would  be  so  awkward  and 
unheard-of.' 

178 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*Well,  all  I  can  say  is,'  replied  Ethelberta,  'that  I 
will  do  my  best  All  that  I  have  is  theirs  and  yours 
as  much  as  mine,  and  these  arrangements  are  simply 
on  their  account.  I  don't  like  my  relations  being  my 
servants  ;  but  if  they  did  not  work  for  me,  they  would 
have  to  work  for  others,  and  my  service  is  much 
lighter  and  pleasanter  than  any  other  lady's  would  be 
for  them,  so  the  advantages  are  worth  the  risk.  If  I 
stood  alone,  I  would  go  and  hide  my  head  in  any  hole, 
and  care  no  more  about  the  world  and  its  ways.  I 
wish  I  was  well  out  of  it,  and  at  the  bottom  of  a  quiet 
grave — anybody  might  have  the  world  for  me  then ! 
But  don't  let  me  disturb  you  longer ;  it  is  getting 
late.' 

Ethelberta  then  wished  her  mother  good-night,  and 
went  away.  To  attempt  confidences  on  such  an 
ethereal  matter  as  love  was  now  absurd  ;  her  hermit 
spirit  was  doomed  to  dwell  apart  as  usual ;  and  she 
applied  herself  to  deep  thinking  without  aid  and  alone. 
Not  only  was  there  Picotee's  misery  to  disperse  ;  it 
became  imperative  to  consider  how  best  to  overpass  a 
more  general  catastrophe. 


ETHELBERTAS  HOUSE 
{continued) 

THE  BRITISH  MUSEUM 
XXIV 


Mrs.  Chickerel,  in  deploring  the  risks  of  their 
present  speculative  mode  of  life,  was  far  from  imagin- 
ing that  signs  of  the  foul  future  so  much  dreaded  were 
actually  apparent  to  Ethelberta  at  the  time  the  lament 
was  spoken.  Hence  the  daughter's  uncommon  sensi- 
tiveness to  prophecy.  It  was  as  if  a  dead-reckoner 
poring  over  his  chart  should  predict  breakers  ahead 
to  one  who  already  beheld  them. 

That  her  story-telling  would  prove  so  attractive 
Ethelberta  had  not  ventured  to  expect  for  a  moment ; 
that  having  once  proved  attractive  there  should  be 
any  falling-off  until  such  time  had  elapsed  as  would 
enable  her  to  harvest  some  solid  fruit  was  equally  a 
surprise.  Future  expectations  are  often  based  without 
hesitation  upon  one  happy  accident,  when  the  only 
similar  condition  remaining  to  subsequent  sets  of 
circumstances  is  that  the  same  person  forms  the  centre 
of  them.  Her  situation  was  so  peculiar,  and  so  unlike 
that  of  most  public  people,  that  there  was  hardly  an 
argument  explaining  this  triumphant  opening  which 
could  be  used  in  forecasting  the  close  ;  unless,  indeed, 
more  strategy  were  employed  in  the  conduct  of  the 
campaign  than  Ethelberta  seemed  to  show  at  present. 

There  was  no  denying  that  she  commanded  less 
attention  than  at  first :  the  audience  had  lessened,  and, 

i8o 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

judging  by  appearances,  might  soon  be  expected  to  be 
decidedly  thin.  In  excessive  lowness  of  spirit, 
Ethelberta  translated  these  signs  with  the  bias  that  a 
lingering  echo  of  her  mother's  dismal  words  naturally 
induced,  reading  them  as  conclusive  evidence  that  her 
adventure  had  been  chimerical  in  its  birth.  Yet  it 
was  very  far  less  conclusive  than  she  supposed. 
Public  interest  might  without  doubt  have  been 
renewed  after  a  due  interval,  some  of  the  falling-off 
being  only  an  accident  of  the  season.  Her  novelties 
had  been  hailed  with  pleasure,  the  rather  that  their 
freshness  tickled  than  that  their  intrinsic  merit  was 
appreciated  ;  and,  like  many  inexperienced  dispensers 
of  a  unique  charm,  Ethelberta,  by  bestowing  too 
liberally  and  too  frequently,  was  destroying  the  very 
element  upon  which  its  popularity  depended.  Her 
entertainment  had  been  good  in  its  conception,  and 
partly  good  in  its  execution  ;  yet  her  success  had  but 
little  to  do  with  that  goodness.  Indeed,  what  might 
be  called  its  badness  in  a  histrionic  sense — that  is,  her 
look  sometimes  of  being  out  of  place,  the  sight  of  a 
beautiful  woman  on  a  platform,  revealing  tender  airs 
of  domesticity  which  showed  her  to  belong  by 
character  to  a  quiet  drawing-room — had  been  primarily 
an  attractive  feature.  But  alas,  custom  was  staling 
this  by  improving  her  up  to  the  mark  of  an  utter 
impersonator,  thereby  eradicating  the  pretty  abash- 
ments  of  a  poetess  out  of  her  sphere  ;  and  more  than 
one  well-wisher  who  observed  Ethelberta  from  afar 
feared  that  it  might  some  day  come  to  be  said  of  her 
that  she  had 

Enfeoffed  herself  to  popularity  : 

That,  being  daily  swallowed  by  men's  eyes, 

They  surfeited  with  honey,  and  began 

To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little 

More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much. 

But  this  in  its  extremity  was  not  quite  yet. 

We  discover  her  one  day,  a  little  after  this  time, 
sitting  before  a  table  strewed  with  accounts  and  bills 

I8i 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

from  different  tradesmen  of  the  neighbourhood,  which 
she  examined  with  a  pale  face,  collecting  their  totals 
on  a  blank  sheet.  Picotee  came  into  the  room,  but 
Ethelberta  took  no  notice  whatever  of  her.  The 
younger  sister,  who  subsisted  on  scraps  of  notice  and 
favour,  like  a  dependent  animal,  even  if  these  were 
only  an  occasional  glance  of  the  eye,  could  not  help 
saying  at  last,  '  Berta,  how  silent  you  are.  I  don't 
think  you  know  I  am  in  the  room.' 

'  I  did  not  observe  you,'  said  Ethelberta.  *  I  am 
very  much  engaged  :  these  bills  have  to  be  paid.* 

'What,  and  cannot  we  pay  them  .f* '  said  Picotee,  in 
vague  alarm. 

*  O  yes,  I  can  pay  them.  The  question  is,  how 
lone  shall  I  be  able  to  do  it  ?  * 

*  That  is  sad  ;  and  we  are  gomg  on  so  nicely,  too. 
It  is  not  true  that  you  have  really  decided  to  leave  off 
story-telling  now  the  people  don't  crowd  to  hear  it  as 
they  did  .'* ' 

'  I  think  I  shall  leave  off.' 

'  And  begin  again  next  year  ?  * 

'That  is  very  doubtful.' 

*  I'll  tell  you  what  you  might  do,'  said  Picotee,  her 
face  kindling  with  a  sense  of  great  originality.  '  You 
might  travel  about  to  country  towns  and  tell  your 
story  splendidly.* 

'A  man  in  my  position  might  perhaps  do  it  with 
impunity;  but  I  could  not  without  losing  ground  in 
other  domains.  A  woman  may  drive  to  Mayfair  from 
her  house  in  Exonbury  Crescent,  and  speak  from  a 
platform  there,  and  be  supposed  to  do  it  as  an  original 
way  of  amusing  herself;  but  when  it  comes  to  starring 
in  the  provinces  she  establishes  herself  as  a  woman  of 
a  different  breed  and  habit.  I  wish  I  were  a  man  !  I 
would  give  up  this  house,  advertise  it  to  be  let  furnished, 
and  sally  forth  with  confidence.  But  I  am  driven  to 
think  of  other  ways  to  manage  than  that.' 

Picotee  fell  into  a  conjectural  look,  but  could  not 
guess. 

182 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*The  way  of  marriage,'  said  Ethelberta.  'Other- 
wise perhaps  the  poetess  may  live  to  become  what 
Dryden  called  himself  when  he  got  old  and  poor — a 
rent-charge  on  Providence.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  must  try  that 
way,*  she  continued,  with  a  sarcasm  towards  people  out 
of  hearing.  '  I  must  buy  a  "  Peerage  "  for  one  thing, 
and  a  **  Baronetage,"  and  a  "  House  of  Commons,"  and 
a  "  Landed  Gentry,"  and  learn  what  people  are  about 
me.  I  must  go  to  Doctors'  Commons  and  read  up 
wills  of  the  parents  of  any  likely  gudgeons  I  may 
know.  I  must  get  a  Herald  to  invent  an  escutcheon 
of  my  family,  and  throw  a  genealogical  tree  into  the 
bargain  in  consideration  of  my  taking  a  few  second- 
hand heirlooms  of  a  pawnbroking  friend  of  his.  I 
must  get  up  sham  ancestors,  and  find  out  some  notorious 
name  to  start  my  pedigree  from.  It  does  not  matter 
what  his  character  was  ;  either  villain  or  martyr  will 
do,  provided  that  he  lived  five  hundred  years  ago. 
It  would  be  considered  far  more  creditable  to  make 
good  my  descent  from  Satan  in  the  age  when  he  went 
to  and  fro  on  the  earth  than  from  a  ministering  angel 
under  Victoria.' 

*  But,  Berta,  you  are  not  going  to  marry  any 
stranger  who  may  turn  up  ? '  said  Picotee,  who  had 
creeping  sensations  of  dread  when  Ethelberta  talked 
like  this. 

'  I  had  no  such  intention.  But,  having  once  put 
my  hand  to  the  plough,  how  shall  I  turn  back  ? ' 

*  You  might  marry  Mr.  Ladywell,'  said  Picotee, 
who  preferred  to  look  at  things  in  the  concrete. 

*  Yes,  marry  him  villanously  ;  in  cold  blood,  without 
a  moment  to  prepare  himself.' 

*  Ah,  you  won't ! ' 

'  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that.  I  have  brought 
mother  and  the  children  to  town  against  her  judgment 
and  against  my  father's  ;  they  gave  way  to  my  opinion 
as  to  one  who  from  superior  education  has  larger 
knowledge  of  the  world  than  they.  I  must  prove  my 
promises,  even  if  Heaven  should  fall  upon  me  for  it, 

183 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

or  what  a  miserable  future  will  theirs  be !  We  must 
not  be  poor  in  London.  Poverty  in  the  country  is  a 
sadness,  but  poverty  in  town  is  a  horror.  There  is 
something  not  without  grandeur  in  the  thought  of 
starvation  on  an  open  mountain  or  in  a  wide  wood, 
and  your  bones  lying  there  to  bleach  in  the  pure  sun 
and  rain  ;  but  a  back  garret  in  a  rookery,  and  the 
other  starvers  in  the  room  insisting  on  keeping  the 
window  shut — anything  to  deliver  us  from  that ! ' 

'How  gloomy  you  can  be,  Berta !  It  will  never 
be  so  dreadful.  Why,  I  can  take  in  plain  sewing,  and 
you  can  do  translations,  and  mother  can  knit  stockings, 
and  so  on.  How  much  longer  will  this  house  be 
yours  ?  * 

'Two  years.  If  I  keep  it  longer  than  that  I  shall 
have  to  pay  rent  at  the  rate  of  three  hundred  a  year. 
The  Petherwin  estate  provides  me  with  it  till  then, 
which  will  be  the  end  of  Lady  Petherwin's  term.' 

'  I  see  it ;  and  you  ought  to  marry  before  the 
house  is  gone,  if  you  mean  to  marry  high,*  murmured 
Picotee,  in  an  inadequate  voice,  as  one  confronted  by  a 
world  so  tragic  that  any  hope  of  her  assisting  therein 
was  out  of  the  question. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  exposition  of  the  family 
affairs  that  Christopher  called  upon  them  ;  but  Picotee 
was  not  present,  having  gone  to  think  of  superhuman 
w^ork  on  the  spur  of  Ethelberta's  awakening  talk. 
There  was  something  new  In  the  way  In  which 
Ethelberta  received  the  announcement  of  his  name  ; 
passion  had  to  do  with  it,  so  had  circumspection  ;  the 
latter  most,  for  the  first  time  since  their  reunion. 

'  I  am  going  to  leave  this  part  of  England,'  said 
Christopher,  after  a  few  gentle  preliminaries.  '  I  was 
one  of  the  applicants  for  the  post  of  assistant-organist 
at  Melchester  Cathedral  when  It  became  vacant,  and  I 
find  I  am  likely  to  be  chosen,  through  the  interest  of 
one  of  my  father's  friends.' 

'  I  congratulate  you.' 

'  No,  Ethelberta,   it  is  not  worth   that.      I  did  not 

184 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

originally  mean  to  follow  this  course  at  all ;  but  events 
seemed  to  point  to  it  in  the  absence  of  a  better.* 

'  I  too  am  compelled  to  follow  a  course  I  did  not 
originally  mean  to  take.'  After  saying  no  more  for  a 
few  moments,  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  sudden  openness, 
a  richer  tincture  creeping  up  her  cheek,  *  I  want  to 
put  a  question  to  you  boldly — not  exactly  a  question — 
a  thought.  Have  you  considered  whether  the  relations 
between  us  which  have  lately  prevailed  are — are  the 
best  for  you — and  for  me  ? ' 

'  I  know  what  you  mean,'  said  Christopher,  hastily 
anticipating  all  that  she  might  be  going  to  say  ;  *and 
I  am  glad  you  have  given  me  the  opportunity  of 
speaking  upon  that  subject.  It  has  been  very  good 
and  considerate  in  you  to  allow  me  to  share  your 
society  so  frequently  as  you  have  done  since  I  have 
been  in  town,  and  to  think  of  you  as  an  object  to 
exist  for  and  strive  for.  But  I  ought  to  have 
remembered  that,  since  you  have  nobody  at  your  side 
to  look  after  your  interests,  it  behoved  me  to  be 
doubly  careful.  In  short,  Ethelberta,  I  am  not  in  a 
position  to  marry,  nor  can  I  discern  when  I  shall  be, 
and  I  feel  it  would  be  an  injustice  to  ask  you  to  be 
bound  in  any  way  to  one  lower  and  less  talented  than 
you.  You  cannot,  from  what  you  say,  think  it  desir- 
able that  the  engagement  should  continue.  I  have 
no  right  to  ask  you  to  be  my  betrothed,  without 
having  a  near  prospect  of  making  you  my  wife.  I 
don't  mind  saying  this  straight  out — I  have  no  fear 
that  you  will  doubt  my  love ;  thank  Heaven,  you 
know  what  that  is  well  enough !  However,  as  things 
are,  I  wish  you  to  know  that  I  cannot  conscientiously 
put  in  a  claim  upon  your  attention.' 

A  second  meaning  was  written  in  Christopher's 
look,  though  he  scarcely  uttered  it.  A  woman  so 
delicately  poised  upon  the  social  globe  could  not  in 
honour  be  asked  to  wait  for  a  lover  who  was  unable  to 
set  bounds  to  the  waiting  period.  Yet  he  had  privily 
dreamed  of  an  approach  to  that  position — an  unreserved, 

185 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

ideally  perfect  declaration  from  Ethelberta  that  time 
and  practical  issues  were  nothing  to  her ;  that  she 
would  stand  as  fast  without  material  hopes  as  with 
them  ;  that  love  was  to  be  an  end  with  her  hence- 
forth, having  utterly  ceased  to  be  a  means.  Therefore 
this  surreptitious  hope  of  his,  founded  on  no  reasonable 
expectation,  was  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised  when 
Ethelberta  answered,  with  a  predominance  of  judgment 
over  passion  still  greater  than  before  : 

'  It  is  unspeakably  generous  in  you  to  put  it  all 
before  me  so  nicely,  Christopher.  I  think  infinitely 
more  of  you  fpr  being  so  unreserved,  especially  since  I 
too  have  been  thinking  much  on  the  indefiniteness  of 
the  days  to  come.  We  are  not  numbered  among  the 
blest  few  who  can  afford  to  trifle  with  the  time.  Yet 
to  agree  to  anything  like  a  positive  parting  will  bq 
quite  unnecessary.  You  did  not  mean  that,  did  you  ? 
for  it  is  harsh  if  you  did.'  Ethelberta  smiled  kindly  as 
ghe  said  this,  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  was  far  from 
really  upbraiding  him.  '  Let  it  be  only  that  we  will 
see  each  other  less.  We  will  bear  one  another  in 
mind  as  deeply  attached  friends  if  not  as  definite  lovers, 
and  keep  up  friendly  remembrances  of  a  sort  which, 
come  what  may,  will  never  have  to  be  ended  by  any 
painful  process  termed  breaking  off  Different  persons, 
different  natures  ;  and  it  may  be  that  marriage  would 
not  be  the  most  favourable  atmosphere  for  our  old 
affection  to  prolong  itself  in.  When  do  you  leavQ 
London  ?' 

The  disconnected  query  seemed  to  be  subjoined  to 
disperse  the  crude  effect  of  what  had  gone  before. 

*I  hardly  know,'  murmured  Christopher.  *r  sup- 
pose I  shall  not  call  here  again.' 

Whilst  they  were  silent  somebody  entered  the  room 
softly,  and  they  turned  to  discover  Picotee. 

'Come  here,  Picotee,'  said  Ethelberta. 

Picotee  came  with  an  abashed  bearing  to  where 
the  other  two  were  standing,  and  looked  down  stead- 
fastly. 

i86 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'Mr.  Julian  is  going  away,'  she  continued,  with 
determined  firmness.  '  He  will  not  see  us  again  lor  a 
long  time.'  And  Ethelberta  added,  in  a  lower  tone, 
though  still  in  the  unflinching  manner  of  one  who  had 
set  herself  to  say  a  thing,  and  would  say  it — *  He  is 
not  to  b^.  definitely  engaged  to  me  any  longer.  We 
are  not  thinking  of  marrying,  you  know,  Picotee.  It 
is  best  that  we  should  not.' 

*  Perhaps  it  is,'  said  Christopher  hurriedly,  taking 
up  his  hat.  *  Let  me  now  wish  you  good-bye  ;  and,  of 
course,  you  will  always  know  where  I  am,  and  how  to 
find  me.* 

It  was  a  tender  time.  He  inclined  forward  that 
Ethelberta  might  give  him  her  hand,  which  she  did  ; 
whereupon  their  eyes  met.  Mastered  by  an  impelling 
instinct  she  had  not  reckoned  with,  Ethelberta  presented 
her  cheek.  Christopher  kissed  it  faintly.  Tears  were 
in  Ethelberta's  eyes  now,  and  she  was  heartfull  of  many 
emotions.  Placing  her  arm  round  Picotee's  waist, 
who  had  never  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  carpet,  she 
drew  the  slight  girl  forward,  and  whispered  quickly  to 
him — *  Kiss  her,  too.  She  is  my  sister,  and  I  am 
yours.* 

It  seemed  all  right  and  natural  to  their  respective 
moods  and  the  tone  of  the  moment  that  free  old  Wessex 
manners  should  prevail,  and  Christopher  stooped  and 
dropped  upon  Picotee's  cheek  likewise  such  a  farewell 
kiss  as  he  had  imprinted  upon  Ethelberta's. 

*  Care  for  us  both  equally ! '  said  Ethelberta. 

*  I  will,'  said  Christopher,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  said. 

When  he  had  reached  the  door  of  the  room,  he 
looked  back  and  saw  the  two  sisters  standing  as  he 
had  left  them,  and  equally  tearful.  Ethelberta  at  once 
said,  in  a  last  futile  struggle  against  letting  him  go 
altogether,  and  with  thoughts  of  her  sister's  heart : 

'  I  think  that  Picotee  might  correspond  with  Faith ; 
don't  you,  Mr.  Julian  ?' 

'  My  sister  would  much  like  to  do  so,'  said  he. 

187 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  And  you  would  like  it  too,  would  you  not,  Picotee  ? ' 

*  O  yes,'  she  replied.     '  And  I  can  tell  them  all  about 

you.' 

•Then  it  shall  be  so,  if  Miss  Julian  will.'  She 
spoke  in  a  settled  way,  as  if  something  intended  had 
been  set  in  train  ;  and  Christopher  having  promised 
for  his  sister,  he  went  out  of  the  house  with  a  parting 
smile  of  misgiving. 

He  could  scarcely  believe  as  he  walked  along  that 
those  late  words,  yet  hanging  in  his  ears,  had  really 
been  spoken,  that  still  visible  scene  enacted.  He 
could  not  even  recollect  for  a  minute  or  two  how  the 
final  result  had  been  produced.  Did  he  himself  first 
enter  upon  the  long-looming  theme,  or  did  she? 
Christopher  had  been  so  nervously  alive  to  the  urgency 
of  setting  before  the  hard-striving  woman  a*  clear  out- 
line of  himself,  his  surroundings  and  his  fears,  that  he 
fancied  the  main  impulse  to  this  consummation  had 
been  his,  notwithstanding  that  a  faint  initiative  had 
come  from  Ethelberta.  All  had  completed  itself 
quickly,  unceremoniously,  and  easily.  Ethelberta  had 
let  him  go  a  second  time  ;  yet  on  foregoing  mornings 
and  evenings,  when  contemplating  the  necessity^  of 
some  such  explanation,  it  had  seemed  that  nothing 
less  than  Atlantean  force  could  overpower  their  mutual 
gravitation  towards  each  other. 

On  his  reaching  home  Faith  was  not  in  the  house, 
and,  in  the  restless  state  which  demands  something  to 
talk  at,  the  musician  went  off  to  find  her,  well  knowing 
her  haunt  at  this  time  of  the  day.  He  entered  the 
spiked  and  gilded  gateway  of  the  Museum  hard  by, 
turned  to  the  wing  devoted  to  sculptures,  and  descended 
to  a  particular  basement  room,  which  was  lined  with 
bas-reliefs  from  Nineveh.  The  place  was  cool,  silent, 
and  soothing ;  it  was  empty,  save  of  a  little  figure  in 
black,  that  was  standing  with  its  face  to  the  wall  in  an 
innermost  nook.  This  spot  was  Faith's  own  temple  ; 
here,  among  these  deserted  antiques.  Faith  was  always 
happy.     Christopher  looked  on  at  her  for  some  time 

i88 


A  COxMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

before  she  noticed  him,  and  dimly  perceived  how  vastly 
differed  her  homely  suit  and  unstudied  contour — pain- 
fullv  unstudied  to  fastidious  eves — from  Ethelberta's 
well-arranged  draperies,  even  from  Picotee's  clever  bits 
of  ribbon,  by  which  she  made  herself  look  pretty  out 
of  nothing  at  all.  Yet  this  negligence  was  his  sister's 
essence ;  without  it  she  would  have  been  a  spoilt  pro- 
duct. She  had  no  outer  world,  and  her  rustv  black 
was  as  appropriate  to  Faith's  unseen  courses  as  were 
Ethelberta's  correct  lights  and  shades  to  her  more 
prominent  career. 

'  Look,  Kit,'  said  Faith,  as  soon  as  she  knew  who 
was  approaching.  *  This  is  a  thing  I  never  learnt 
before;  this  person  is  really  Sennacherib,  sitting  on 
his  throne  ;  and  these  with  fluted  beards  and  hair  like 
plough-furrows,  and  fingers  with  no  bones  in  them,  are 
his  warriors — really  carved  at  the  time,  you  know. 
Only  just  think  that  this  is  not  imagined  of  Assyria, 
but  done  in  Assyrian  times  by  Assyrian  hands.  Don't 
you  feel  as  if  you  were  actually  in  Nineveh  ;  that  as 
we  now  walk  between  these  slabs,  so  walked  Ninevites 
between  them  once  ? ' 

'Yes.  .  .  .  Faith,  it  is  all  over.  Ethelberta  and  I 
have  parted.' 

*  Indeed.  And  so  my  plan  is  to  think  of  verses  in 
the  Bible  about  Sennacherib  and  his  doings,  which 
resemble  these  ;  this  verse,  for  instance,  I  remember  : 
"  Now  in  the  fourteenth  year  of  King  Hezeklah  did 
Sennacherib,  King  of  Assyria,  come  up  against  all  the 
fenced  cities  of  Judah  and  took  them.  And  Hezekiah, 
King  of  Judah,  sent  to  the  King  of  Assyria  to  Lachish," 
and  so  on.  Well,  there  it  actually  is,  you  see.  There's 
Sennacherib,  and  there's  Lachish.  Is  it  not  glorious 
to  think  that  this  is  a  picture  done  at  the  time  of  those 
very  events  ? ' 

'  Yes.  We  did  not  quarrel  this  time,  Ethelberta 
and  I.  If  I  may  so  put  it,  it  is  worse  than  quarrelling. 
We  felt  it  was  no  use  going  on  any  longer,  and  so — 
Come,  Faith,   hear  what   I   say,  or  else  tell  me  that 

189 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

you   won't    hear,   and    that    I    may   as   well    save  my 
breath  !  * 

'  Yes,  I  will  really  listen,'  she  said,  fluttering  her 
eyelids  in  her  concern  at  having  been  so  abstracted, 
and  excluding  Sennacherib  there  and  then  from  Chris- 
topher's affairs  by  the  first  settlement  of  her  features 
to  a  present-day  aspect,  and  her  eyes  upon  his  face. 
'  You  said  you  had  seen  Ethelberta.  Yes,  and  what 
did  she  say  ?  * 

*  Was  there  ever  anybody  so  provoking  !  Why,  I 
have  just  told  you  ! ' 

'  Yes,  yes  ;  I  remember  now.  You  have  parted. 
The  subject  is  too  large  for  me  to  know  all  at  once 
what  I  think  of  it,  and  you  must  give  me  time,  Kit. 
Speaking  of  Ethelberta  reminds  me  of  what  I  have 
done.  I  just  looked  into  the  Academy  this*  morning 
— I  thought  I  would  surprise  you  by  telling  you  about 
it.  And  what  do  you  think  I  saw  ?  Ethelberta — in 
the  picture  painted  by  Mr.  Lady  well.' 

*  It  is  never  hung?'  said  he,  feeling  that  they  wera 
at  one  as  to  a  topic  at  last. 

'  Yes.  And  the  subject  is  an  Elizabethan  knight 
parting  from  a  lady  of  the  same  period — the  words 
explaining  the  picture  being — 

"  Farewell !  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possessing, 
And  like  enough  thou  know'st  thy  estimate." 

The  lady  is  Ethelberta,  to  the  shade  of  a  hair — her 

living  face  ;  and  the  knight  is ' 

'  Not  Ladywell  ?  ' 

*  I  think  so  ;   I  am  not  sure.' 

'  No  wonder  I  am  dismissed !  And  yet  she  hates 
him.  Well,  come  along,  Faith.  Women  allow  strange 
liberties  in  these  days.' 


THE  ROYAL  ACADEMY 
THE  FARNFIELD  ESTATE 

XXV 

Ethelberta  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  kindly  effects 
of  artistic  education  upon  the  masses.  She  held 
that  defilement  of  mind  often  arose  from  io"norance  of 
eye  ;  and  her  philanthropy  being,  by  the  simple  force  of 
her  situation,  of  that  sort  which  linorers  in  the  neio^hbour- 
hood  of  home,  she  concentrated  her  efforts  in  this  kind 
upon  Sol  and  Dan.  Accordingly,  the  Academy  exhibi- 
tion having  now  just  opened,  she  ordered  the  brothers 
to  appear  in  their  best  clothes  at  the  entrance  to 
Burlington  House  just  after  noontide  on  the  Saturday 
of  the  first  week,  this  beinof  the  onlv  dav  and  hour 
at  which  they  could  attend  without  'losing  a  half,'  and 
therefore  it  was  necessary  to  put  up  with  the  incon- 
venience of  arrivinof  at  a  crowded  and  enervatino^ 
time. 

When  Ethelberta  was  set  down  in  the  quadrangle 
she  perceived  the  faithful  pair,  big  as  the  Zamzummims 
of  old  time,  standing  like  sentinels  in  the  particular 
corner  that  she  had  named  to  them  :  for  Sol  and  Dan 
would  as  soon  have  attempted  petty  larceny  as  broken 
faith  with  their  admired  lady-sister  Ethelberta.  They 
welcomed  her  with  a  painfully  lavish  exhibition  of 
large  new  gloves,  and  chests  covered  with  broad  tri- 
angular areas  of  padded  blue  silk,  occupying  the  position 
that  the  shirt-front  had  occupied  in  earlier  days,  and 

191 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

supposed  to  be  lineally  descended  from  the  tie  of  a 
neckerchief. 

The  dress  of  their  sister  for  to-day  was  exactly  that 
of  a  respectable  workman's  relative  who  had  no  par- 
ticular ambition  in  the  matter  of  fashion — a  black  stuff 
gown,  a  plain  bonnet  to  match.  A  veil  she  wore  for 
obvious  reasons  :  her  face  was  getting  well  known  in 
London,  and  it  had  already  appeared  at  the  private 
view  in  an  uncovered  state,  when  it  was  scrutinized 
more  than  the  paintings  around.  But  now  homely  and 
useful  labour  was  her  purpose. 

Catalogue  in  hand  she  took  the  two  brothers 
through  the  galleries,  teaching  them  in  whispers  as 
they  walked,  and  occasionally  correcting  them — first, 
for  too  reverential  a  bearing  towards  the  well-dressed 
crowd,  among  whom  they  persisted  in  walking  with 
their  hats  in  their  hands  and  with  the  contrite  bearing 
of  meek  people  in  church  ;  and,  secondly,  for  a  tendency 
which  they  too  often  showed  towards  straying  from 
the  contemplation  of  the  pictures  as  art  to  indulge  in 
curious  speculations  on  the  intrinsic  nature  of  the 
delineated  subject,  the  gilding  of  the  frames,  the  con- 
struction of  the  skylights  overhead,  or  admiration  for 
the  bracelets,  lockets,  and  lofty  eloquence  of  persons 
around  them. 

'  Now,'  said  Ethelberta,  in  a  warning  whisper,  *  we 
are  coming  near  the  picture  which  was  partly  painted 
from  myself.  And,  Dan,  when  you  see  it,  don't  you 
exclaim  "Hullo!"  or  ''That's  Berta  to  a  T,"  or  anything 
at  all.  It  would  not  matter  were  it  not  dancrerous  for 
me  to  be  noticed  here  to-day.  I  see  several  people  who 
would  recognize  me  on  the  least  provocation.' 

'Not  a  word,'  said  Dan.  'Don't  you  be  afeard 
about  that.  I  feel  that  I  baint  upon  my  own  ground 
to-day  ;  and  wouldn't  do  anything  to  cause  an  upset, 
drown  me  if  I  would.     Would  you,  Sol  .^ ' 

In  this  temper  they  all  pressed  forward,  and  Ethel- 
berta could  not  but  be  gratified  at  the  reception  of 
Ladywell's  picture,   though  it  was  accorded  by  critics 

192 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

not  very  profound.  It  was  an  operation  of  some 
minutes  to  get  exactly  opposite,  and  when  side  by  side 
the  three  stood  there  they  overheard  the  immediate 
reason  of  the  pressure.  *  Farewell,  thou  art  too  dear 
for  my  possessing '  had  been  lengthily  discoursed  upon 
that  morning  by  the  Coryphaeus  of  popular  opinion  ;  and 
the  spirit  having  once  been  poured  out  sons  and 
daughters  could  prophesy.  But,  in  truth,  Ladywell's 
work,  if  not  emphatically  original,  was  happily  centred 
on  a  middle  stratum  of  taste,  and  apart  from  this 
adventitious  help  commanded,  and  deserved  to  com- 
mand, a  wide  area  of  appreciation. 

While  they  were  standing  here  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  throng  Ethelberta's  ears  were  arrested  by  two  male 
voices  behind  her,  whose  words  formed  a  novel  contrast 
to  those  of  the  other  speakers  around. 

*  Some  men,  you  see,  with  extravagant  expectations 
of  themselves,  coolly  get  them  gratified,  while  others 
hope  rationally  and  are  disappointed.  Luck,  that's 
what  it  is.  And  the  more  easily  a  man  takes  life  the 
more  persistently  does  luck  follow  him.' 

*  Of  course ;  because,  if  he's  industrious  he  does 
not  want  luck's  assistance.  Natural  laws  will  help  him 
instead.' 

'  Well,  if  it  is  true  that  Ladywell  has  painted  a  good 
picture  he  has  done  it  by  an  exhaustive  process.  He 
has  painted  every  possible  bad  one  till  nothing  more  of 
that  sort  is  left  for  him.  You  know  what  lady's  face 
served  as  the  original  to  this,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  Mrs.  Petherwin's,  I  hear.' 

*  Yes,  Mrs.  Alfred  Neigh  that's  to  be.' 

*  What,  that  elusive  fellow  caught  at  last  ? ' 

*  So  it  appears  ;  but  she  herself  is  hardly  so  well 
secured  as  yet,  it  seems,  though  he  takes  the  uncertainty 
as  coolly  as  possible.  I  knew  nothing  about  it  till  he 
introduced  the  subject  as  we  were  standing  here  on 
Monday,  and  said,  in  an  off-hand  way,  ''  I  mean  to 
marry  that  lady."  I  asked  him  how.  ''  Easily,"  he 
said ;  "  I  will  have  her  if  there  are  a  hundred  at  her 

193 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

heels."     You  will    understand  that    this  was  quite  in 
confidence.' 

*  Of  course,  of  course.'  Then  there  was  a  slight 
laugh,  and  the  companions  proceeded  to  other  gossip. 

Ethelberta,  calm  and  compressed  in  manner,  sidled 
along  to  extricate  herself,  not  daring  to  turn  round,  and 
Dan  and  Sol  followed,  till  they  were  all  clear  of  the  spot. 
The  brothers,  who  had  heard  the  words  equally  well 
with  Ethelberta,  made  no  remark  to  her  upon  them, 
assuming  that  they  referred  to  some  peculiar  system  of 
courtship  adopted  in  high  life,  with  which  they  had 
rightly  no  concern. 

Ethelberta  ostensibly  continued  her  business  of 
tutoring  the  young  workmen  just  as  before,  though  every 
emotion  in  her  had  been  put  on  the  alert  by  this  dis- 
covery. She  had  known  that  Neigh  admired  her ;  yet 
his  presumption  in  uttering  such  a  remark  as  he  was 
reported  to  have  uttered,  confidentially  or  otherwise, 
nearly  took  away  her  breath.  Perhaps  it  was  not  alto- 
gether  disagreeable  to  have  her  breath  so  taken  away. 

'  I  mean  to  marry  that  lady.'  She  whispered  the 
words  to  herself  twenty  times  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon. Sol  and  Dan  were  left  considerably  longer  to 
their  private  perceptions  of  the  false  and  true  in  art 
than  they  had  been  earlier  in  the  day. 

When  she  reached  home  Ethelberta  was  still  far- 
removed  in  her  reflections  ;  and  it  was  noticed  after- 
wards that  about  this  time  in  her  career  her  openness 
of  manner  entirely  deserted  her.  She  mostly  was 
silent  as  to  her  thoughts,  and  she  wore  an  air  of 
unusual  stillness.  It  was  the  silence  and  stillness  of  a 
starry  sky,  where  all  is  force  and  motion.  This  deep 
undecipherable  habit  sometimes  suggested,  though  it 
did  not  reveal,  Ethelberta's  busy  brain  to  her  sisters, 
and  they  said  to  one  another,  '  I  cannot  think  what's 
coming  to  Berta  :  she  is  not  so  nice  as  she  used  to  be.' 

The  evening  under  notice  was  passed  desultorily 
enough  after  the  discovery  of  Neigh's  self-assured  state- 
ment.    Among  other  things  that  she  did  after  dark, 

194 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

while  still  musingly  examining  the  probabilities  of  the 
report  turning  out  true,  was  to  wander  to  the  large  attic 
where  the  children  slept,  a  frequent  habit  of  hers  at 
night,  to  learn  if  they  were  snug  and  comfortable. 
They  were  talking  now  from  bed  to  bed,  the  person 
under  discussion  being  herself.  Herself  seemed  every- 
where to-day. 

'  I  know  that  she  is  a  fairy,'  Myrde  was  insisting, 
*  because  she  must  be,  to  have  such  pretty  things  in  her 
house,  and  wear  silk  dresses  such  as  mother  and  we 
and  Picotee  haven't  got,  and  have  money  to  give  us 
whenever  we  want  it.' 

'  Emmeline  says  perhaps  she  knows  the  fairy's  god- 
mothe;r,  and  is  not  a  fairy  herself,  because  Berta  is  too 
tall  for  a  real  fairy.' 

*  She  must  be  one  ;  for  when  there  was  a  notch 
burnt  in  the  hem  of  my  pretty  blue  frock  she  said  it 
should  be  gone  in  the  morning  if  I  would  go  to  bed  and 
not  cry  ;  and  in  the  morning  it  was  gone,  and  all  nice 
and  straight  as  new.' 

Ethelberta  was  recalling  to  mind  how  she  had  sat 
up  and  repaired  the  damage  alluded  to  by  cutting  off 
half  an  inch  of  the  skirt  all  round  and  hemming  it 
anew,  when  the  breathing  of  the  children  became 
regular,  and  they  fell  asleep.  Here  were  bright  litde 
minds  ready  for  a  training,  which  without  money  and 
influence  she  could  never  give  them.  The  wisdom 
which  knowledge  brings,  and  the  power  which  wisdom 
may  bring,  she  had  always  assumed  would  be  theirs 
in  her  dreams  for  their  social  elevation.  By  what 
means  were  these  things  to  be  ensured  to  them  if  her 
skill  in  bread-winning  should  fail  her  ?  Would  not  a 
well-contrived  marriage  be  of  service  ?  She  covered 
and  tucked  in  one  more  closely,  lifted  another  upon 
the  pillow  and  straightened  the  soft  limbs  to  an  easy 
position  ;  then  sat  down  by  the  window  and  looked 
out  at  the  flashing  stars.  Thoughts  of  Neigh's 
audacious  statement  returned  again  upon  Ethelberta. 
He  had  said  that  he  meant  to  marry  her.     Of  what 

195 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

standing  was  the  man  who  had  uttered  such  an  intention 
respecting  one  to  whom  a  politic  marriage  had  become 
almost  a  necessity  of  existence  ? 

She  had  often  heard  Neigh  speak  indefinitely  of 
some  estate — *  my  little  place  '  he  had  called  it — which 
he  had  purchased  no  very  long  time  ago.  All  she 
knew  was  that  its  name  was  Farnfield,  that  it  lay 
thirty  or  forty  miles  out  of  London  in  a  south-westerly 
direction,  a  railway  station  in  the  district  bearing  the 
same  name,  so  that  there  was  probably  a  village  or 
small  town  adjoining.  Whether  the  dignity  of  this 
landed  property  was  that  of  domain,  farmstead,  allot- 
ment, or  garden-plot,  Ethelberta  had  not  the  slightest 
conception.  She  was  almost  certain  that  Neigh  never 
lived  there,  but  that  might  signify  nothing.  The  exact 
size  and  value  of  the  estate  would,  she  mused,  be 
curious,  interesting,  and  almost  necessary  information  to 
her  who  must  become  mistress  of  it  were  she  to  allow 
him  to  carry  out  his  singularly  cool  and  crude,  if  tender, 
intention.  Moreover,  its  importance  would  afford  a 
very  good  random  sample  of  his  worldly  substance 
throughout,  from  which  alone,  after  all,  could  the  true 
spirit  and  worth  and  seriousness  of  his  words  be  appre- 
hended. Impecuniosity  may  revel  in  unqualified  vows 
and  brim  over  with  confessions  as  blithely  as  a  bird  of 
May,  but  such  careless  pleasures  are  not  for  the  solvent, 
whose  very  dreams  are  negotiable,  and  are  expressed 
with  due  care  accordingly. 

That  Neigh  had  used  the  words  she  had  far  more 
than  primd-facie  appearances  for  believing.  Neigh  s 
own  conduct  towards  her,  though  peculiar  rather  than 
devoted,  found  in  these  words  alone  a  reasonable  key. 
But,  supposing  the  estate  to  be  such  a  verbal  hallucina- 
tion as,  for  instance,  hers  had  been  at  Arrowthorne, 
when  her  poor,  unprogresslve,  hopelessly  impracticable 
Christopher  came  there  to  visit  her,  and  was  so  wonder- 
fully undeceived  about  her  social  standing  :  what  a 
fiasco,  and  what  a  cuckoo -cry  w^ould  his  utterances 
about  marriage  seem  then.     Christopher  had  often  told 

196 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

her  of  his  expectations  from  '  Arrowthorne  Lodge,' 
and  of  the  blunders  that  had  resulted  in  consequence. 
Had  not  Ethelberta's  affection  for  Christopher  partaken 
less  of  lover's  passion  than  of  old-established  tutelary 
tenderness  she  mio^hc  have  been  reminded  bv  this  re- 
flection  of  the  transcendent  fidelity  he  had  shown  under 
that  trial — as  severe  a  trial,  considering  the  abnormal, 
almost  morbid,  development  of  the  passion  for  position 
in  present-day  society,  as  can  be  prepared  for  men  who 
move  in  the  ordinary,  unheroic  channels  of  life. 

By  the  following  evening  the  consideration  of  this 
possibility,  that  Neigh's  position  might  furnish  scope 
for  such  a  disillusive  discovery  by  herself  as  hers  had 
afforded  to  Christopher,  decoyed  Ethelberta  into  a 
curious  little  scheme.  She  w^as  piqued  into  a  practical 
undertaking  by  the  man  who  could  say  to  his  friend 
with  such  sangf7'oid,  '  I  mean  to  marry  that  lady.' 

Merely  telling  Picotee  to  prepare  for  an  evening 
excursion,  of  which  she  was  to  talk  to  no  one,  Ethelberta 
made  ready  likewise,  and  they  left  the  house  in  a  cab 
about  half- an -hour  before  sunset,  and  drove  to  the 
Waterloo  Station. 

With  the  decline  and  departure  of  the  sun  a  fog 
gathered  itself  out  of  the  low  meadow-land  that  bordered 
the  railway  as  they  went  along  tow*ards  the  west,  stretch- 
ing over  it  like  a  placid  lake,  till,  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  the  mist  became  generally  pervasive,  though 
not  dense.  Avoiding  observation  as  much  as  they  con- 
veniently could,  the  two  sisters  w^alked  from  the  long 
wooden  shed  which  formed  the  station  here,  into  the 
rheumy  air  and  along  the  road  to  the  open  country. 
Picotee  occasionally  questioned  Ethelberta  on  the  object 
of  the  strange  journey  :  she  did  not  question  closely, 
being  satisfied  that  in  such  sure  hands  as  Ethelberta's 
she  was  safe. 

Deeming  it  unwise  to  make  any  inquiry  just  yet 
beyond  the  simple  one  of  the  way  to  Farnfield,  Ethel- 
berta led  her  companion  along  a  newly-fenced  road 
across  a  heath.     In  due  time  they  came  to  an  orna- 

197 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBRRTA 

mental  gate  with  a  curved  sweep  of  wall  en  each  side, 
signifying  the  entrance  to  some  enclosed  property  or 
other.  Ethelberta,  being  quite  free  from  any  digested 
plan  for  encouraging  Neigh  in  his  resolve  to  wive,  was 
startled  to  find  a  hope  in  her  that  this  very  respectable 
beginning  before  their  eyes  was  the  entrance  to  the 
Farnfield  property  :  that  she  hoped  it  was  nevertheless 
unquestionable.  Just  beyond  lay  a  turnpike-house, 
where  was  dimly  visible  a  woman  in  the  act  of  putting 
up  a  shutter  to  the  front  window. 

Compelled  by  this  time  to  come  to  special  questions, 
Ethelberta  instructed  Picotee  to  ask  of  this  person  if 
the  place  they  had  just  passed  was  the  entrance  to 
Farnfield  Park.  The  woman  replied  that  it  was. 
Directly  she  had  gone  indoors  Ethelberta  turned  back 
again  towards  the  park  gate. 

'  What  have  we  come  for,  Berta  ? '  said  Picotee,  as 
she  turned  also. 

'  I'll  tell  you  some  day,'  replied  her  sister. 
It  w^as  now  much  past  eight  o'clock,  and,  from  the 
nature  of  the  evening,  dusk.  The  last  stopping  up- 
train  was  about  ten,  so  that  half-an-hour  could  well  be 
afforded  for  looking  round.  Ethelberta  went  to  the 
gate,  which  was  found  to  be  fastened  by  a  chain  and 
padlock. 

'Ah,  the  London  season,'  she  murmured. 
There  was  a  wicket  at  the  side,  and  they  entered. 
An  avenue  of  young  fir  trees  three  or  four  feet  in 
height  extended  from  the  gate  into  the  mist,  and  down 
this  they  walked.  The  drive  was  not  in  very  good 
order,  and  the  two  women  were  frequently  obliged  to 
walk  on  the  grass  to  avoid  the  rough  stones  in  the 
carriage-way.  The  double  line  of  young  firs  now 
abruptly  terminated,  and  the  road  swept  lower,  bending 
to  the  right,  immediately  in  front  being  a  large  lake, 
calm  and  silent  as  a  second  sky.  They  could  hear 
from  somewhere  on  the  margin  the  purl  of  a  weir,  and 
around  were  clumps  of  shrubs,  araucarias  and  deodars 
being  the  commonest. 

198 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  could  not  resist  being  charmed  with  the 
repose  of  the  spot,  and  hastened  on  with  curiosity  to 
reach  the  other  side  of  the  pool,  where,  by  every  law  of 
manorial  topography,  the  mansion  would  be  situate. 
The  fog  concealed  all  objects  beyond  a  distance  of 
twenty  yards  or  thereabouts,  but  it  was  nearly  full 
moon,  and  though  the  orb  was  hidden,  a  pale  diffused 
light  enabled  them  to  see  objects  in  the  foreground. 
Reaching  the  other  side  of  the  lake  the  drive  enlarged 
itself  most  legitimately  to  a  large  oval,  as  for  a  sweep 
before  a  door,  a  pile  of  rockwork  standing  in  the  midst. 

But  where  should  have  been  the  front  door  of  a 
mansion  was  simply  a  rough  rail  fence,  about  four  feet 
high.     They  drew  near  and  looked  over. 

In  the  enclosure,  and  on  the  site  of  the  imaginary 
house,  w^as  an  extraordinary  group.  It  consisted  ol 
numerous  horses  in  the  last  stage  of  decrepitude,  the 
animals  being  such  mere  skeletons  that  at  first  Ethel- 
berta hardly  recognized  them  to  be  horses  at  all ;  they 
seemed  rather  to  be  specimens  of  some  attenuated 
heraldic  animal,  scarcely  thick  enough  through  the 
body  to  throw  a  shadow  :  or  enlarged  castings  of  the 
fire-dog  of  past  times.  These  poor  creatures  were 
endeavouring  to  make  a  meal  from  herbage  so  trodden 
and  thin  that  scarcely  a  wholesome  blade  remained  ; 
the  litde  that  there  was  consisted  of  the  sourer  sorts 
common  on  such  sandy  soils,  mingled  with  tufts  of 
heather  and  sprouting  ferns. 

*Why  have  we  come  here,  dear  Berta?'  said 
Picotee,  shuddering. 

*  I  hardly  know,'  said  Ethelberta. 

Adjoining  this  enclosure  was  another  and  smaller 
one,  formed  of  high  boarding,  within  which  appeared 
to  be  some  sheds  and  outhouses.  Ethelberta  looked 
through  the  crevices,  and  saw  that  in  the  midst  of  the 
yard  stood  trunks  of  trees  as  if  they  were  growing,  with 
branches  also  extending,  but  these  were  sawn  off  at 
the  points  where  they  began  to  be  flexible,  no  twigs  or 
boughs  remaining.     Each  torso  was  not  unlike  a  huge 

199 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

hat-stand,  and  suspended  to  the  pegs  and  prongs  were 
lumps  of  some  substance  which  at  first  she  did  not 
recognize  ;  they  proved  to  be  a  chronological  sequel  to 
the  previous  scene.  Horses'  skulls,  ribs,  quarters,  legs, 
and  other  joints  w^ere  hung  thereon,  the  whole  forming 
a  huge  open-air  larder  emitting  not  too  sweet  a  smell. 

But  w^hat  Stygian  sound  was  this  ?  There  had 
arisen  at  the  moment  upon  the  mute  and  sleepy  air  a 
varied  howling  from  a  hundred  tongues.  It  had  burst 
from  a  spot  close  at  hand — a  low  wooden  building  by 
a  stream  which  fed  the  lake — and  reverberated  for 
miles.      No  further  explanation  was  required. 

'  We  are  close  to  a  kennel  of  hounds,'  said  Ethel- 
berta,  as  Picotee  held  tighdy  to  her  arm.  '  They 
cannot  get  out,  so  you  need  not  fear.  They  have  a 
horrid  way  of  suddenly  beginning  thus  at  different 
hours  of  the  night,  for  no  apparent  reason  :  though 
perhaps  they  hear  us.  These  poor  horses  are  waiting 
to  be  killed  for  their  food.' 

The  experience  altogether,  from  its  intense  melan- 
choly, was  very  depressing,  almost  appalling  to  the  two 
lone  young  women,  and  they  quickly  retraced  their 
footsteps.  The  pleasant  lake,  the  purl  of  the  weir, 
the  rudimentary  lawns,  shrubberies,  and  avenue,  had 
changed  their  character  quite.  Ethelberta  fancied  at 
that  moment  that  she  could  not  have  married  Neigh, 
even  had  she  loved  him,  so  horrid  did  his  belongings 
appear  to  be.  But  for  many  other  reasons  she  had 
been  gradually  feeling  within  this  hour  that  she  would 
not  go  out  of  her  way  at  a  beck  from  a  man  whose 
interest  was  so  unimpassioned. 

Thinking  no  more  of  him  as  a  possible  husband  she 
ceased  to  be  afraid  to  make  inquiries  about  the  pecu- 
liarities of  his  possessions.  In  the  high-road  they 
came  upon  a  local  man,  resting  from  wheeling  a 
wheelbarrow,  and  Ethelberta  asked  him,  with  the  air  of 
a  country-woman,  who  owned  the  estate  across  the 
road. 

'  The   man   owning   that   is    one    of  the    name    of 

200 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Neigh,'  said  the  native,  wiping  his  face.  ' 'Tis  a 
family  that  have  made  a  very  large  fortune  by  the 
knacker  business  and  tanning,  though  they  be  only 
sleeping  partners  in  it  now,  and  live  like  lords.  Mr. 
Neigh  was  going  to  pull  down  the  old  huts  here,  and 
improve  the  place  and  build  a  mansion — in  short,  he 
went  so  far  as  to  have  the  grounds  planted,  and  the 
roads  marked  out,  and  the  fish-pond  made,  and  the 
place  christened  Farnfield  Park  ;  but  he  did  no  more. 
''  I  shall  never  have  a  wife,"  he  said,  '*  so  why  should  I 
want  a  house  to  put  her  in?"  He's  a  terrible  hater 
of  women,  I  hear,  particularly  the  lower  class.' 
' Indeed ! ' 

*  Yes  ;  and  since  then  he  has  let  half  the  land  to 
the  Honourable  Mr.  Mountclere,  a  brother  of  Lord 
Mountclere's.  Mr.  Mountclere  wanted  the  spot  for  a 
kennel,  and  as  the  land  is  too  poor  and  sandy  for 
cropping,  Mr.  Neigh  let  him  have  it.  Tis  his  hounds 
that  you  hear  howling.' 

They  passed  on.  '  Berta,  why  did  we  come  down 
here  ? '  said  Picotee. 

*  To  see  the  nakedness  of  the  land.  It  was  a  whim 
only,  and  as  it  will  end  in  nothing,  it  is  not  worth  while 
for  me  to  make  further  explanation.' 

It  was  with  a  curious  sense  of  renunciation  that 
Ethelberta  went  homeward.  Neigh  was  handsome, 
grim-natured,  rather  wicked,  and  an  indifferentist ;  and 
these  attractions  interested  her  as  a  woman.  But  the 
news  of  this  evening  suggested  to  Ethelberta  that 
herself  and  Neigh  were  too  nearly  cattle  of  one  colour 
for  a  confession  on  the  matter  of  lineage  to  be  well 
received  by  him  ;  and  without  confidence  of  every  sort 
on  the  nature  of  her  situation,  she  was  determined  to 
contract  no  union  at  all.  The  sympathy  of  unlikeness 
might  lead  the  scion  of  some  family,  hollow  and 
fungous  with  antiquity,  and  as  yet  unmarked  by  a 
mesalliance,  to  be  won  over  by  her  story ;  but  the 
antipathy  of  resemblance  would  be  ineradicable. 


201 


ETHELBERTA'S 

DRA  WING-ROOM 

XXVI 

While  Ethelberta  during  the  next  few  days  was 
dismissing  that  evening  journey  from  her  considera- 
tion, as  an  incident  altogether  foreign  to  the  organized 
course  of  her  existence,  the  hidden  fruit  thereof  was 
rounding  to  maturity  in  a  species  unforeseen. 

Inferences  unassailable  as  processes  are,  neverthe- 
less, to  be  suspected,  from  the  almost  certain  deficiency 
of  particulars  on  some  side  or  other.  The  truth  in 
relation  to  Neigh's  supposed  frigidity  was  brought 
before  her  at  the  end  of  the  following  week,  when 
Dan  and  Sol  had  taken  Picotee,  Cornelia,  and  the 
young  children  to  Kew  for  the  afternoon. 

Early  that  morning,  hours  before  it  was  necessary, 
there  had  been  such  a  chatter  of  preparation  in  the 
house  as  was  seldom  heard  there.  Sunday  hats  and 
bonnets  had  been  retrimmed  with  such  cunning  that 
it  would  have  taken  a  milliner's  apprentice  at  least  to 
discover  that  any  thread  in  them  was  not  quite  new. 
There  was  an  anxious  peep  through  the  blind  at  the 
sky  at  daybreak  by  Georgina  and  Myrtle,  and  the 
perplexity  of  these  rural  children  was  great  at  the 
weather-signs  of  the  town,  where  atmospheric  effects 
had  nothing  to  do  with  clouds,  and  fair  days  and  foul 
came  apparently  quite  by  chance.  Punctually  at  the 
hour  appointed  two  friendly  human  shadows  descended 

202 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

across  the  kitchen  window,  followed  by  Sol  and  Dan, 
much  to  the  relief  of  the  children's  apprehensions  that 
they  might  forget  the  day. 

The  brothers  were  by  this  time  acquiring  some- 
thing of  the  airs  and  manners  of  London  workmen  ; 
they  were  less  spontaneous  and  more  comparative  ;  less 
genial,  but  smarter ;  in  obedience  to  the  usual  law 
by  which  the  emotion  that  takes  the  form  of  humour  in 
country  workmen  becomes  transmuted  to  irony  among 
the  same  order  in  town.  But  the  fixed  and  dogged 
fidelity  to  one  another  under  apparent  coolness,  by 
which  this  family  was  distinguished,  remained  un- 
shaken in  these  members  as  in  all  the  rest,  leading 
them  to  select  the  children  as  companions  in  their 
holiday  in  preference  to  casual  acquaintance.  At  last 
they  were  ready,  and  departed,  and  Ethelberta,  after 
chatting  with  her  mother  awhile,  proceeded  to  her 
personal  duties. 

The  house  was  very  silent  that  day,  Gwendoline 
and  Joey  being  the  only  ones  left  below  stairs.  Ethel- 
berta was  wishing  that  she  had  thrown  off  her  state 
and  gone  to  Kew  to  have  an  hour  of  childhood  over 
again  in  a  romp  with  the  others,  w^hen  she  was  startled 
by  the  announcement  of  a  male  visitor — none  other 
than  Mr.  Neigh. 

Ethelberta's  attitude  on  receipt  of  this  information 
sufficiently  expressed  a  revived  sense  that  the  incidence 
of  Mr.  Neigh  on  her  path  might  have  a  meaning  after 
all.  Neigh  had  certainly  said  he  was  going  to  marry 
her,  and  now  here  he  was  come  to  her  house — ^just  as 
if  he  meant  to  do  it  forthwith.  She  had  mentally  dis- 
carded him  ;  yet  she  felt  a  shock  which  was  scarcely 
painful,  and  a  dread  which  was  almost  exhilarating. 
Her  fiying  visit  to  Farnfield  she  thought  little  of  at  this 
moment.  From  the  fact  that  the  mind  prefers  imagin- 
ings to  recapitulation,  conjecture  to  history,  Ethelberta 
had  dwelt  more  upon  Neigh's  possible  plans  and  anti- 
cipations than  upon  the  incidents  of  her  evening 
journey ;    and    the    former   assumed    a  more    distinct 

203 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

shape  In  her  mind's  eye  than  anything  on  the  visible 
side  of  the  curtain. 

Neigh  was  perhaps  not  quite  so  placidly  nonchalant 
as  in  ordinary  ;  still,  he  was  by  far  the  most  trying 
visitor  that  Ethelberta  had  lately  faced,  and  she  could 
not  get  above  the  stage — not  a  very  high  one  for  the 
mistress  of  a  house — of  feeling  her  personality  to  be 
inconveniently  in  the  way  of  his  eyes.  He  had  some- 
what the  bearing  of  a  man  who  v%'as  going  to  do 
without  any  fuss  what  gushing  people  would  call  a 
philanthropic  action. 

'  I  have  been  intending  to  write  a  line  to  you,'  said 
Neiofh  ;  *  but  I  felt  that  I  could  not  be  sure  of  writing 
my  meaning  in  a  way  which  might  please  you.  I  am 
not  bright  at  a  letter — never  was.  The  question  I 
mean  is  one  that  I  hope  you  will  be  disposed  to  answer 
favourably,  even  though  I  may  show  the  awkwardness 
of  a  fellow — person  who  has  never  put  such  a  question 
before.  Will  you  give  me  a  word  of  encouragement — 
just  a  hope  that  I  may  not  be  unacceptable  as  a 
husband  to  you  ?  Your  talents  are  very  great ;  and  of 
course  I  know  that  I  have  nothing  at  all  in  that  way. 
Still  people  are  happy  together  sometimes  in  spite  of 
such  things.     Will  you  say  ''Yes,"  and  settle  it  now?' 

*  I  was  not  expecting  you  had  come  upon  such  an 
errand  as  this,'  said  she,  looking  up  a  little,  but  mostly 
looking  down.  '  I  cannot  say  what  you  wish,  Mr. 
Neigh.' 

'  Perhaps  I  have  been  too  sudden  and  presumptuous. 
Yes,  I  know  I  have  been  that.  However,  directly  I  saw 
you  I  felt  that  nobody  ever  came  so  near  my  idea  of 
what  is  desirable  in  a  lady,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that 
onlv  one  obstacle  should  stand  in  the  wav  of  the  natural 
results,  which  obstacle  would  be  your  refusal.  In 
common  kindness  consider.  I  daresay  I  am  judged  to 
be  a  man  of  inattentive  habits — I  know  that's  what  you 
think  of  me  ;  but  under  your  influence  I  should  be 
very  different ;  so  pray  do  not  let  your  dislike  to  little 
matters  influence  you.' 

204 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  I  would  not  indeed.  But  believe  me  there  can  be 
no  discussion  of  marriage  between  us,' said  Ethelberta 
decisively. 

*  If  that's  the  case  I  may  as  well  say  no  more.  To 
burden  you  with  my  regrets  would  be  out  of  place, 
I  suppose,'  said  Neigh,  looking  calmly  out  of  the 
window. 

*  Apart  from  personal  feeling,  there  are  considera- 
tions which  would  prevent  what  you  contemplated,' she 
murmured.  '  My  affairs  are  too  lengthy,  intricate,  and 
unpleasant  for  me  to  explain  to  anybody  at  present. 
And  that  would  be  a  necessary  first  step.' 

*  Not  at  all.  I  cannot  think  that  preliminary  to 
be  necessary  at  all.  I  would  put  my  lawyer  in  com- 
munication with  yours,  and  we  would  leave  the  rest 
to  them  :  I  believe  that  is  the  proper  way.  You 
could  say  anything  in  confidence  to  your  family-man  ; 
and  you  could  inquire  through  him  anything  you  might 
wish  to  know  about  my — about  me.  All  you  would 
need  to  say  to  myself  are  just  the  two  little  words — *'  I 
will,"  in  the  church  here  at  the  end  of  the  Crescent' 

*  I  am  sorry  to  pain  you,  Mr.  Neigh — so  sorry,' said 
Ethelberta.  '  But  I  cannot  say  them.'  She  was  rather 
distressed  that,  despite  her  discouraging  words,  he  still 
went  on  with  his  purpose,  as  if  he  imagined  what  she 
so  distinctly  said  to  be  no  bar,  but  rather  a  stimulant, 
usual  under  the  circumstances. 

*  It  does  not  matter  about  paining  me,'  said  Neigh. 
'  Don't  take  that  into  consideration  at  all.  But  I  did 
not  expect  you  to  leave  me  so  entirely  without  help — 
to  refuse  me  absolutely  as  far  as  words  go — after  what 
you  did.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that  I  should  never 
have  ventured  to  call.  I  might  otherwise  have  sup- 
posed your  interest  to  be  fixed  in  another  quarter ; 
but  your  acting  in  that  manner  encouraged  me  to  think 
you  could  listen  to  a  word.' 

*  What  do  you  allude  to  ?  '  said  Ethelberta.  *  How 
have  I  acted  ? ' 

Neigh  appeared  reluctant  to  go  any  further ;  but 

20$ 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  allusion  soon  became  sufficiently  clear.  '  I  wish 
my  little  place  at  Farnfield  had  been  worthier  of  you,' 
he  said  brusquely.  '  However,  that's  a  matter  of  time 
only.  It  is  useless  to  build  a  house  there  yet.  I  wish 
I  had  known  that  you  would  be  looking  over  it  at  that 
time  of  the  evening.  A  single  word,  when  we  were 
talking  about  it  the  other  day,  that  you  were  going  to 
be  in  the  neighbourhood,  would  have  been  sufficient. 
Nothing  could  have  given  me  so  much  delight  as  to 
have  driven  you  round.' 

He  knew  that  she  had  been  to  Farnfield  :  that 
knowledge  was  what  h:^d  inspired  him  to  call  upon 
her  to-day  !  Ethelberta  breathed  a  sort  of  exclamation, 
not  right  out,  but  stealthily,  like  a  parson's  damn. 
Her  face  did  not  change,  since  a  face  must  be  said 
not  to  change  while  it  preserves  the  same  pleasant 
lines  in  the  mobile  parts  as  before  ;  but  anybody  who 
has  preserved  his  pleasant  lines  under  the  half-minute's 
peer  of  the  invidious  camera,  and  found  what  a  wizened, 
starched  kind  of  thino-  thev  stiffen  to  towards  the  end  of 
the  time,  will  understand  the  tendency  of  Ethelberta's 
lovely  features  now. 

'Yes;   I  walked  round,'  said  Ethelberta  faintly. 

Neigh  was  decidedly  master  of  the  position  at  last ; 
but  he  spoke  as  if  he  did  not  value  that.  His  know- 
ledge had  furnished  him  with  grounds  for  calling  upon 
her,  and  he  hastened  to  undeceive  her  from  supposing 
that  he  could  think  ill  of  any  motive  of  hers  w^hich  gave 
him  those  desirable  o-rounds. 

'  I  supposed  you,  by  that,  to  give  some  litde  thought 
to  me  occasionally,'  he  resumed,  in  the  same  slow  and 
orderly  tone.  '  How  could  I  help  thinking  so  .'^  It  was 
your  doing  that  which  encouraged  me.  Now,  was  it 
not  natural — I  put  it  to  you  ? ' 

Ethelberta  was  almost  exasperated  at  perceiving  the 
awful  extent  to  which  she  had  compromised  herself 
with  this  man  by  her  impulsive  visit.  Lightly  and 
philosophically  as  he  seemed  to  take  it — as  a  thing, 
in  short,    which   every   woman    would    do    by    nature 

206 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

unless  hindered  by  difficulties — it  was  no  trifle  to  her 
as  long  as  he  was  ignorant  of  her  justification  ;  and 
this  she  determined  that  he  should  know  at  once,  at 
all  hazards. 

*  It  was  through  you  in  the  first  place  that  I  did 
look  into  your  grounds  ! '  she  said  excitedly.  *  It  was 
your  presumption  that  caused  me  to  go  there.  I 
should  not  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  else.  If  you 
had  not  said  what  you  did  say  I  never  should  have 
thought  of  you  or  Farnfield  either — Farnfield  might 
have  been  in  Kamtschatka  for  all  I  cared.' 

*  I  hope  sincerely  that  I  never  said  anything  to 
disturb  you  ? ' 

*  Yes,  you  did — not  to  me,  but  to  somebody,'  said 
Ethelberta,  with  her  eyes  over- full  of  retained  tears. 

'  What  have  I  said  to  somebody  that  can  be  in  the 
least  objectionable  to  you.^ '  inquired  Neigh,  with  much 
concern. 

'  You  said — you  said,  you  meant  to  marry  me — just 
as  if  I  had  no  voice  in  the  matter !  And  that  annoyed 
me,  and  made  me  go  there  out  of  curiosity.' 

Neigh  changed  colour  a  little.  '  Well,  I  did  say  it : 
I  own  that  I  said  it,'  he  replied  at  last.  Probably  he 
knew  enough  of  her  nature  not  to  feel  long  disconcerted 
by  her  disclosure,  however  she  might  have  become 
possessed  of  the  information.  The  explanation  was 
certainly  a  great  excuse  to  her  curiosity ;  but  if  Ethel- 
berta had  tried  she  could  not  have  given  him  a  better 
ground  for  making  light  of  her  objections  to  his  suit. 
*  I  felt  that  I  must  marry  you,  that  we  were  predestined 
to  marry  ages  ago,  and  I  feel  it  still  ! '  he  continued, 
with  listless  ardour.  '  You  seem  to  regret  your  interest 
in  Farnfield  ;  but  to  me  it  is  a  charm,  and  has  been 
ever  since  I  heard  of  it.' 

*  If  you  only  knew  all ! '  she  said  helplessly,  showing, 
without  perceiving  it,  an  unnecessar)^  humility  in  the 
remark,  since  there  was  no  more  reason  just  then  that 
she  should  go  into  details  about  her  life  than  that 
he  should  about  his.      But  melancholy  and  mistaken 

207 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

thoughts  of  herself  as  a  counterfeit  had  brought  her 
to  this. 

'  I  do  not  wish  to  know  more,'  said  Neigh. 

*  And  would  you  marry  any  woman  off-hand,  without 
being  thoroughly  acquainted  with  her  circumstances  ? ' 
she  said,  looking  at  him  curiously,  and  with  a  little 
admiration,  for  his  unconscionably  phlegmatic  treat- 
ment of  her  motives  in  going  to  Farnfield  had  a  not 
unbecoming  daring  about  it  in  Ethelberta's  eye. 

*I  would  marry  a  woman  off-hand  when  that 
woman  is  you.  I  would  make  you  mine  this  moment 
did  I  dare ;  or,  to  speak  with  absolute  accuracy, 
within  twentv-four  hours.  Do  assent  to  it,  dear  Mrs. 
Petherwin,  and  let  me  be  sure  of  you  for  ever.  I'll 
drive  to  Doctors'  Commons  this  minute,  and  meet 
you  to-morrow  morning  at  nine  in  the  church  just 
below.  It  is  a  simple  impulse,  but  I  would  adhere  to 
it  in  the  coolest  moment.  Shall  it  be  arranged  in  that 
way,  instead  of  our  waiting  through  the  ordinary 
routine  of  preparation  ?  I  am  not  a  youth  now,  but 
I  can  see  the  bliss  of  such  an  act  as  that,  and  the  con- 
temptible nature  of  methodical  proceedings  beside  it ! ' 

He  had  taken  her  hand.  Ethelberta  gave  it  a 
subtle  movement  backwards  to  imply  that  he  was  not 
to  retain  the  prize,  and  said,  '  One  whose  inner  life  is 
almost  unknown  to  you,  and  whom  you  have  scarcely 
seen  except  at  other  people's  houses  ! ' 

*  We  know  each  other  far  better  than  we  may  think 
at  first,'  said  Neigh.  *We  are  not  people  to  love  in  a 
hurry,  and  I  have  not  done  so  in  this  case.  As  for 
worldly  circumstances,  the  most  important  items  in  a 
marriage  contract  are  the  persons  themselves,  and,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  if  I  get  a  lady  fair  and  wise  I 
care  for  nothing  further.  I  know  you  are  beautiful, 
for  all  London  owns  it ;  I  know  you  are  gifted,  for 
I  have  read  your  poetry  and  heard  your  romances ; 
and  I  know  you  are  politic  and  discreet ' 

*  For  I  have  examined  your  property,'  said  she, 
with  a  weak  smile. 

208 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Neigh  bowed.  '  And  what  more  can  I  wish  to 
know  ?     Come,  shall  it  be  ?  ' 

*  Certainly  not  to-morrow.' 

'  I  would  be  entirely  in  your  hands  in  that  matter. 
I  will  not  urge  you  to  be  precipitate — I  could  not 
expect  you  to  be  ready  yet.  My  suddenness  perhaps 
offended  you ;  but,  having  thought  deeply  of  this 
bright  possibility,  I  was  apt  to  forget  the  forbearance 
that  one  ought  to  show  at  first  in  mentioning  it.  If  I 
have  done  wrong  forgive  me.' 

'  I  will  think  of  that,'  said  Ethelberta,  with  a  cooler 
manner.  *  But  seriously,  all  these  words  are  nothing 
to  the  purpose.  I  must  remark  that  I  prize  your 
friendship,  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  marry  now.  You 
have  convinced  me  of  your  goodness  of  heart  and 
freedom  from  unworthy  suspicions  ;  let  that  be  enough. 
The  best  way  in  which  I  in  my  turn  can  convince  you 
of  my  goodness  of  heart  is  by  asking  you  to  see  me  in 
private  no  more.' 

'  And  do  you  refuse  to  think  of  me  as .     Why 

do  you  treat  me  like  that,  after  all  ? '  said  Neigh,  sur- 
prised at  this  want  of  harmony  with  his  principle  that 
one  convert  to  matrimony  could  always  find  a  second 
ready-made. 

'  I  cannot  explain,  I  cannot  explain,'  said  she,  im- 
patiently. '  I  would  and  I  would  not — explain,  I  mean, 
not  marry.  I  don't  love  anybody,  and  I  have  no  heart 
left  for  beginning.  It  is  only  honest  in  me  to  tell  you 
that  I  am  interested  in  watching  another  man's  career, 
though  that  is  not  to  the  point  either,  for  no  close 
relationship  with  him  is  contemplated.  But  I  do  not 
wish  to  speak  of  this  any  more.  Do  not  press  me 
to  it.' 

*  Certainly  I  will  not,*  said  Neigh,  seeing  that  she 
was  distressed  and  sorrowful.  '  But  do  consider  me 
and  my  wishes  ;  I  have  a  right  to  ask  it,  for  it  is  only 
asking  a  continuance  of  what  you  have  already  begun 
to  do.  To-morrow  I  believe  I  shall  have  the  happiness 
of  seeing  you  again.* 

209 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

She  did  not  say  no,  and  long  after  the  door  had 
closed  upon  him  she  remained  fixed  in  thought.  '  How 
can  he  be  blamed  for  his  manner,'  she  said,  *  after 
knowino-  what  I  did  1 ' 

Ethelberta  as  she  sat  felt  herself  much  less  a 
Petherwin  than  a  Chickerel,  much  less  a  poetess  richly 
freighted  with  fancy  than  an  adventuress  with  a 
nebulous  prospect.  Neigh  was  one  of  the  few  men 
whose  presence  seemed  to  attenuate  her  dignity  in 
some  mysterious  way  to  its  very  least  proportions  ;  and 
that  act  of  espial,  which  had  so  quickly  and  inexplic- 
ably come  to  his  knowledge,  helped  his  influence  still 
more.  She  knew  little  of  the  nature  of  the  town 
bachelor  ;  there  were  opaque  depths  in  him  which  her 
thoughts  had  never  definitely  plumbed.  Notwithstand- 
ing her  exaltation  to  the  atmosphere  of  the  Petherwin 
family,  Ethelberta  was  very  far  from  having  the 
thoroughbred  London  woman's  knowledge  of  sets, 
grades,  coteries,  cliques,  forms,  glosses,  and  niceties, 
particularly  on  the  masculine  side.  Setting  the  years 
from  her  infancy  to  her  first  look  into  tow^n  against 
those  linking  that  epoch  with  the  present,  the  former 
period  covered  not  only  the  greater  time,  but  contained 
the  mass  of  her  most  vivid  impressions  of  life  and  its 
ways.  But  in  recognizing  her  ignorance  of  the  ratio 
between  words  to  women  and  deeds  to  women  in  the 
ethical  code  of  the  bachelor  of  the  club,  she  forgot  that 
human  nature  in  the  gross  differs  little  with  situation, 
and  that  a  gift  which,  if  the  germs  were  lacking, 
no  amount  of  training  in  clubs  and  coteries  could 
supply,  was  mother-wit  like  her  own. 


MRS,  BELMAINE'S 

CRIPPLEGATE  CHURCH 

XXVII 

Neigh's  remark  that  he  believed  he  should  see 
Ethelberta  again  the  next  day  referred  to  a  contem- 
plated pilgrimage  of  an  unusual  sort  which  had  been 
arranged  for  that  day  by  Mrs.  Belmaine  upon  the 
ground  of  an  incidental  suggestion  of  Ethelberta's. 
One  afternoon  in  the  week  previous  they  had  been 
chatting  over  tea  at  the  house  of  the  former  lady,  Neigh 
being  present  as  a  casual  caller,  when  the  conversation 
was  directed  upon  Milton  by  somebody  opening  a 
volume  of  the  poet's  works  that  lay  on  a  table  near. 

Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour : 
England  hath  need  of  thee 

said  Mrs.  Belmaine  with  the  degree  of  flippancy  which 
is  considered  correct  for  immortal  verse,  the  Bible,  God, 
etc.,  in  these  days.  And  Ethelberta  replied,  lit  up  by 
a  quick  remembrance,  *  It  is  a  good  time  to  talk  of 
Milton  ;  for  I  have  been  much  impressed  by  reading 
the  "  Life "  ;  and  I  have  decided  to  go  and  see  his 
tomb.  Could  we  not  all  go.^  We  ought  to  quicken 
our  memories  of  the  great,  and  of  where  they  lie,  by 
such  a  visit  occasionally.' 

*We  ought,'  said  Mrs.  Belmaine. 

*And  why  shouldn't  we?'  continued  Ethelberta, 
with  interest 

211 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  To  Westminster  Abbey  ? '  said  Mr.  Belmalne,  a 
common  man  of  thirty,  younger  than  his  wife,  who  had 
lately  come  Into  the  room. 

'  No ;  to  where  he  lies  comparatively  alone — 
Cripplegate  Church.' 

'  I  always  thought  that  Milton  was  burled  In  Poet's 
Corner,'  said  Mr.  Belmalne. 

'So  did  I,'  said  Neigh;  'but  I  have  such  an  in- 
different head  for  places  that  my  thinking  goes  for 
nothing.' 

'  Well,  It  would  be  a  pretty  thing  to  do,  said  Mrs. 
Belmalne,  '  and  instructive  to  all  of  us.  If  Mrs.  Pether- 
win  would  like  to  go,  I  should.  We  can  take  you  In 
the  carriage  and  call  round  for  Mrs.  Doncastle  on  our 
way,  and  set  you  both  down  again  coming  back.' 

'  That  would  be  excellent,'  said  Ethelberta.  '  There 
is  nowhere  I  like  going  to  so  much  as  the  depths  of 
the  city.  The  absurd  narrowness  of  world-renowned 
streets  is  so  surprising — so  crooked  and  shady  as  they 
are  too,  and  full  of  the  quaint  smells  of  old  cupboards 
and  cellars.  Walking  through  one  of  them  reminds 
me  of  being  at  the  bottom  of  some  crevasse  or  gorge, 
the  proper  surface  of  the  globe  being  the  tops  of  the 
houses.' 

*  You  will  come  to  take  care  of  us,  John  ?  And 
you,  Mr.  Neigh,  would  like  to  come  ?  We  will  tell  Mr. 
Lady  well  that  he  may  join  us  If  he  cares  to,'  said  Mrs. 
Belmalne. 

*  O  yes,'  said  her  husband  quiedy  ;  and  Neigh  said 
he  should  like  nothing  better,  after  a  faint  aspect  of 
apprehension  at  the  remoteness  of  the  idea  from  the 
daily  track  of  his  thoughts.  Mr.  Belmalne  observing 
this,  and  mistaking  it  for  an  indication  that  Neigh  had 
been  dragged  into  the  party  against  his  will  by  his 
over-hasty  wife,  arranged  that  Neigh  should  go  In- 
dependendy  and  meet  them  there  at  the  hour  named 
if  he  chose  to  do  so,  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of 
staying  away.  Ethelberta  also  was  by  this  time  doubt- 
ing if  she  had  not  been  too  eager  with  her  proposal. 

212 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

To  go  on  such  a  sentimental  errand  might  be  thought 
by  her  friends  to  be  simply  troublesome,  their  adher- 
ence having  been  given  only  in  the  regular  course  of 
complaisance.  She  was  still  comparatively  an  outsider 
here,  her  life  with  Lady  Petherwin  having  been  passed 
chiefly  in  alternations  between  English  watering-places 
and  continental  towns.  However,  it  was  too  late  now 
to  muse  on  this,  and  it  may  be  added  that  from  first  to 
last  Ethelberta  never  discovered  from  the  Belmaines 
whether  her  proposal  had  been  an  infliction  or  a  charm, 
so  perfectly  were  they  practised  in  sustaining  that 
complete  divorce  between  thinking  and  saying  which  is 
the  hall-mark  of  high  civilization. 

But,  however  she  might  doubt  the  Belmaines,  she 
had  no  doubt  as  to  Neicfh's  true  sentiments  :  the  time 
had  come  when  he,  notwithstanding  his  air  of  being 
oppressed  by  almost  every  lively  invention  of  town 
and  country  for  charming  griefs  to  rest,  would  not  be 
at  all  oppressed  by  a  quiet  visit  to  the  purlieus  of  St. 
Giles's,  Cripplegate,  since  she  was  the  originator,  and 
was  going  herself. 

It  was  a  bright  hope-inspiring  afternoon  in  this  mid- 
May  time  when  the  carriage  containing  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Belmaine,  Mrs.  Doncastle,  and  Ethelberta,  crept  along 
the  encumbered  streets  towards  Barbican;  till  turn- 
ing out  of  that  thoroughfare  into  Redcross  Street  they 
beheld  the  bold  shape  of  the  old  tower  they  sought, 
clothed  in  every  neutral  shade,  standing  clear  against 
the  sky,  dusky  and  grim  in  its  upper  stage,  and  hoary 
grey  below^  where  every  corner  of  every  stone  was  com- 
pletely rounded  off  by  the  waves  of  wind  and  storm. 

All  people  were  busy  here  :  our  visitors  seemed  to 
be  the  only  idle  persons  the  city  contained  ;  and  there 
was  no  dissonance — there  never  is — between  antiquity 
and  such  beehive  industry;  for  pure  industry%  in  failing 
to  observe  its  own  existence  and  aspect,  partakes  of 
the  unobtrusive  nature  of  material  things.  This 
intramural  stir  was  a  flywheel  transparent  by  excessive 
motion,  through  which   IMilton  and  his  day  could  be 

213 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

seen  as  if  nothing  intervened.  Had  there  been 
ostensibly  harmonious  accessories,  a  crowd  of  observing 
people  in  search  of  the  poetical,  conscious  of  the  place 
and  the  scene,  what  a  discord  would  have  arisen  there ! 
But  everybody  passed  by  Milton's  grave  except  Ethel- 
berta  and  her  friends,  and  for  the  moment  the  city's  less 
invidious  conduct  appeared  to  her  more  respectful  as  a 
practice  than  her  own. 

But  she  was  brought  out  of  this  rumination  by  the 
halt  at  the  church  door,  and  completely  reminded  of 
the  present  by  finding  the  church  open,  and  Neigh — 
the,  till  yesterday,  unimpassioned  Neigh — waiting  in 
the  vestibule  to  receive  them,  just  as  if  he  lived  there. 
Lady  well  had  not  arrived.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
Ethelberta  could  get  back  to  Milton  again,  for  Neigh 
was  continuing  to  impend  over  her  future  more  and 
more  visibly.  The  objects  along  the  journey  had  dis- 
tracted her  mind  from  him  ;  but  the  moment  now  was 
as  a  direct  renewal  and  prolongation  of  the  declaration- 
time  yesterday,  and  as  if  in  furtherance  of  the  con- 
clusion of  the  episode. 

They  all  alighted  and  went  in,  the  coachman  being 
told  to  take  the  carriage  to  a  quiet  nook  further  on,  and 
return  in  half  an  hour.  Mrs.  Belmaine  and  her  carriage 
some  years  before  had  accidentally  got  jammed  cross- 
wise in  Cheapside  through  the  clumsiness  of  the  man  in 
turning  up  a  side  street,  blocking  that  great  artery  of 
the  civilized  world  for  the  space  of  a  minute  and  a  half, 
when  they  were  pounced  upon  by  half  a  dozen  police- 
men and  forced  to  back  ignominiously  up  a  little  slit 
between  the  houses  where  they  did  not  mean  to  go, 
amid  the  shouts  of  the  hindered  drivers  ;  and  it  was 
her  nervous  recollection  of  that  event  which  caused 
Mrs.  Belmaine  to  be  so  precise  in  her  directions  now. 

By  the  time  that  they  were  grouped  around  the 
tomb  the  visit  had  assumed  a  much  more  solemn 
complexion  than  any  one  among  them  had  anticipated. 
Ashamed  of  the  influence  that  she  discovered  Neieh 
to  be  exercismg  over  her,  and  opposing  it  steadily, 

214 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  drew  from  her  pocket  a  small  edition  of 
Milton,  and  proposed  that  she  should  read  a  few  lines 
from  '  Paradise  Lost.'  The  responsibility  of  producing 
a  successful  afternoon  was  upon  her  shoulders  ;  she 
was,  moreover,  the  only  one  present  who  could 
properly  manage  blank  verse,  and  this  was  sufficient 
to  justify  the  proposal. 

She  stood  with  her  head  against  the  marble  slab 
just  below  the  bust,  and  began  a  selected  piece.  Neigh 
standing  a  few  yards  off  on  her  right  looking  Into  his 
hat  In  order  to  listen  accurately,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Belmalne 
and  Mrs.  Doncastle  seating  themselves  in  a  pew 
directly  facing  the  monument.^  The  ripe  warm  colours 
of  afternoon  came  in  upon  them  from  the  west,  upon 
the  sallow  piers  and  arches,  and  the  Infinitely  deep 
brown  pews  beneath,  the  aisle  over  Ethelberta's  head 
being  in  misty  shade  through  which  glowed  a  lurid 
light  from  a  dark -stained  window  behind.  The 
sentences  fell  from  her  lips  In  a  rhythmical  cadence 
one  by  one,  and  she  could  be  fancied  a  priestess  of 
him  before  whose  Image  she  stood,  when  with  a  vivid 
suggestlveness  she  delivered  here,  not  many  yards 
from  the  central  money-mill  of  the  world,  yet  out  from 
the  very  tomb  of  their  author,  the  passage  containing 
the  words  : 

Mammon  led  them  on  ; 

Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 

From  heaven. 

When  she  finished  reading  Ethelberta  left  the 
monument,  and  then  each  one  present  strayed  in- 
dependently about  the  building,  Ethelberta  turning 
to  the  left  along  the  passage  to  the  south  door. 
Neigh — from  whose  usually  apathetic  face  and  eyes 
there  had  proceeded  a  secret  smouldering  light  as 
he  listened  and  regarded  her — followed  In  the  same 
direction  and  vanished  at  her  heels  into  the  churchyard, 
whither  she  had  now  gone.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Belmalne 
exchanged  glances,  and  Instead  of  following  the  pair 

^  There  have  been  changes  since  this  was  vrritten. 
215 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

they  went  with  Mrs.  Doncastle  into  the  vestry  to 
inquire  of  the  person  in  charge  for  the  register  of  the 
marriage  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  w^hich  was  solemnized 
here.  The  church  was  now  quite  empty,  and  its 
stillness  was  as  a  vacuum  into  which  an  occasional 
noise  from  the  street  overflowed  and  became  rarefied 
away  to  nothing. 

Something  like  five  minutes  had  passed  when  a 
hansom  stopped  outside  the  door,  and  Ladywell  entered 
the  porch.  He  stood  still,  and,  looking  inquiringly 
round  for  a  minute  or  two,  sat  down  in  one  of  the  high 
pews,  as  if  under  the  impression  that  the  others  had  not 
yet  arrived. 

While  he  sat  here  Neigh  reappeared  at  the  south 
door  opposite,  and  came  slowly  in.  Ladywell,  in  rising 
to  go  to  him,  saw  that  Neigh's  attention  was  engrossed 
by  something  he  held  in  his  hand.  It  was  his  pocket- 
book,  and  Neigh  was  looking  at  a  few  loose  flower- 
petals  which  had  been  placed  between  the  pages. 
When  Ladywell  came  forward  Neigh  looked  up, 
started,  and  closed  the  book  quickly,  so  that  some  of 
the  petals  fluttered  to  the  ground  between  the  two  men. 
They  were  striped,  red  and  white,  and  appeared  to  be 
leaves  of  the  Harlequin  rose. 

*Ah!  here  you  are,  Ladywell,'  he  said,  recovering 
himself.  'We  had  given  you  up  :  my  aunt  said  that 
you  would  not  care  to  come.  They  are  all  in  the 
vestry.'  How  it  came  to  pass  that  Neigh  designated 
those  in  the  vestry  as  'all,'  when  there  was  one  in  the 
churchyard,  was  a  thing  that  he  himself  could  hardly 
have  explained,  so  much  more  had  it  to  do  with  instinct 
than  with  calculation. 

'Never  mind  them — don't  interrupt  them,'  said 
Ladywell.  '  The  plain  truth  is  that  I  have  been  very 
greatly  disturbed  in  mind  ;  and  I  could  not  appear 
earlier  by  reason  of  it.  I  had  some  doubt  about  coming 
at  all' 

'  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.' 

*  Neigh — I  may  as  well  tell  you  and  have  done  with 

216 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

it.  I  have  found  that  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance  has 
two  strings  to  her  bow,  or  I  am  very  much  in  error.' 

'What — Mrs.  Petherwin  .'^ '  said  Neigh  uneasily. 
'  But  I  thought  that — that  fancy  was  over  with  you  long 
ago.  Even  your  acquaintance  with  her  was  at  an  end, 
1  thought.' 

'  In  a  measure  It  Is  at  an  end.  But  let  me  tell  you 
that  what  you  call  a  fancy  has  been  anything  but  a 
fancy  with  me,  to  be  over  like  a  spring  shower.  To 
speak  plainly,  Neigh,  I  consider  myself  badly  used  by 
that  woman  ;  damn  badly  used.' 

'  Badly  used  ? '  said  Neigh  mechanically,  and 
wondering  all  the  time  if  Ladywell  had  been  informed 
that  Ethelberta  was  to  be  one  of  the  party  to-day. 

'Well,  I  ought  not  to  talk  like  that,'  said  Ladywell, 
adopting  a  lighter  tone.  'All  is  fair  in  courtship,  I 
suppose,  now  as  ever.  Indeed,  I  mean  to  put  a  good 
face  upon  it :  if  I  am  beaten,  I  am.  But  it  is  very 
provoking,  after  supposing  matters  to  be  going  on 
smoothly,  to  find  out  that  you  are  quite  mistaken.' 

'  I  told  you  you  were  quite  mistaken  in  supposing 
she  cared  for  you.' 

'That  is  just  the  point  I  was  not  mistaken  in,'  said 
Ladywell  warmly.  '  She  did  care  for  me,  and  I  stood 
as  well  with  her  as  any  man  could  stand  until  this 
fellow  came,  whoever  he  is.  I  sometimes  feel  so 
disturbed  about  it  that  I  have  a  orood  mind  to  call 
upon  her  and  ask  his  name.  Wouldn't  you,  Neigh? 
Will  you  accompany  me  ?  ' 

'  I  would  in  a  moment,  but,  but — I  strongly  advise 
you  not  to  go,'  said  Neigh  earnestly.  '  It  would  be 
rash,  you  know^  and  rather  unmannerly  ;  and  would 
only  hurt  your  feelings.' 

'  Well,  I  am  always  ready  to  yield  to  a  friend's 
arguments.  ...  A  sneaking  scamp,  that's  what  he  is. 
Why  does  he  not  show^  himself? ' 

'  Don't  you  really  know  who  he  is  ? '  said  Neigh,  in 
a  pronounced  and  exceptional  tone,  on  purpose  to  give 
Ladywell  a  chance  of  suspecting,  for  the  position  was 

217 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

getting  awkward.  But  Ladywell  was  blind  as  Bar- 
timeus  in  that  direction,  so  well  had  indifference  to 
Ethelberta's  charms  been  feigned  by  Neigh  until  he 
thought  seriously  of  marrying  her.  Yet,  unfortunately 
for  the  interests  of  calmness,  Ladywell  was  less  blind 
with  his  outward  eye.  In  his  reflections  his  glance 
had  lingered  again  upon  the  pocket-book  which  Neigh 
still  held  in  his  hand,  and  upon  the  two  or  three  rose- 
leaves  on  the  floor,  until  he  said  idly,  superimposing 
humorousness  upon  misery,  as  men  in  love  can  : 

'  Rose-leaves,  Neigh  ?  I  thought  you  did  not  care 
for  flowers.  What  makes  you  amuse  yourself  with 
such  sentimental  objects  as  those,  only  fit  for  women, 
or  painters  like  me  ."^  If  I  had  not  observed  you  with 
my  own  eyes  I  should  have  said  that  you  were  about 
the  last  man  in  the  world  to  care  for  things  of  that 
sort.  Whatever  makes  you  keep  rose-leaves  in  your 
pocket-book  ? ' 

'The  best  reason  on  earth,*  said  Neigh.  'A 
woman  gave  them  to  me.' 

*  That  proves  nothing  unless  she  is  a  great  deal  to 
you,'  said  Ladywell,  with  the  experienced  air  of  a  man 
who,  whatever  his  inferiority  in  years  to  Neigh,  was  far 
beyond  him  in  knowledge  of  that  sort,  by  virtue  of  his 
recent  trials. 

*  She  is  a  great  deal  to  me.* 

*  If  I  did  not  know  you  to  be  such  a  confirmed 
misogynist  I  should  say  that  this  is  a  serious  matter.' 

'  It  is  serious,'  said  Neigh  quietly.  *  The  probability 
is  that  I  shall  marry  the  woman  who  gave  me  these. 
Anyhow  I  have  asked  her  the  question,  and  she  has 
not  altogether  said  no.' 

'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Neigh,'  said  Ladywell 
heartily.  *  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  star  is  higher 
than  mine.' 

Before  Neigh  could  make  further  reply  Ladywell 
was  attracted  by  the  glow  of  green  sunlight  reflected 
through  the  south  door  by  the  grass  of  the  church- 
yard, now  in  all  its  spring  freshness  and  luxuriance. 

218 


A  COMEDY  IiN  CHAPTERS 

He  bent  his  steps  thither,  followed  anxiously  by 
Neigh. 

'  I  had  no  idea  there  was  such  a  lovely  green  spot 
in  the  city,'  Lady  well  continued,  passing  out.  'Trees, 
too,  planted  in  the  manner  of  an  orchard.  What  a 
charming  place !  * 

The  place  was  truly  charming  just  at  that  date.  The 
untainted  leaves  of  the  lime  and  plane  trees  and  the 
newly-sprung  grass  had  in  the  sun  a  brilliancy  of  beauty 
that  was  brought  into  extraordinary  prominence  by  the 
sable  soil  showing  here  and  there,  and  the  charcoaled 
stems  and  trunks  out  of  which  the  leaves  budded  :  they 
seemed  an  importation,  not  a  produce,  and  their  deli- 
cacy such  as  would  perish  in  a  day. 

'  What  is  this  round  tower  ? '  Ladywell  said  again, 
walking  towards  the  iron-grey  bastion,  partly  covered 
with  ivy  and  Virginia  creeper,  which  stood  obtruding 
into  the  enclosure. 

*  O,  didn't  you  know  that  was  here  ?  That's  a 
piece  of  the  old  city  wall,'  said  Neigh,  looking  furtively 
around  at  the  same  time.  Behind  the  bastion  the 
churchyard  ran  into  a  long  narrow  strip,  grassed  like 
the  other  part,  but  completely  hidden  from  it  by  the 
cylinder  of  ragged  masonry.  On  rounding  this  pro- 
jection, Ladywell  beheld  within  a  few  feet  of  him  a 
lady  whom  he  knew  too  well. 

*  Mrs.  Petherwin  here  ! '  exclaimed  he,  proving  how 
ignorant  he  had  been  of  the  composition  of  the  party 
he  was  to  meet,  and  accounting  at  the  same  time  for 
his  laxity  in  attending  it. 

'  I  forgot  to  tell  you,'  said  Neigh  awkwardly,  behind 
him,  '  that  Mrs.  Petherwin  was  to  come  with  us.' 

Ethelberta's  look  w^as  somewhat  blushful  and  agi- 
tated, as  if  from  some  late  transaction  :  she  appeared 
to  have  been  secluding  herself  there  till  she  should  have 
recovered  her  equanimity.  However,  she  came  up  to 
him  and  said,  *  I  did  not  see  you  before  this  moment : 
we  had  been  thinking  you  would  not  come.' 

While   these    words   were   being   prettily   spoken, 

219 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Lady  well's  face  became  pale  as  death.  On  Ethel- 
berta's  bosom  were  the  stem  and  green  calyx  of  a  rose, 
almost  all  its  flower  having  disappeared.  It  had  been 
a  Harlequin  rose,  for  two  or  three  of  its  striped  leaves 
remained  to  tell  the  tale. 

She  could  not  help  noticing  his  fixed  gaze,  and  she 
said  quickly,  '  Yes,  I  have  lost  my  pretty  rose  :  this 
may  as  well  go  now,'  and  she  plucked  the  stem  from 
its  fastening  in  her  dress  and  flung  it  away. 

Poor  Lady  well  turned  round  to  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Belmaine,  whose  voices  were  beginning  to  be  heard  just 
within  the  church  door,  leaving  Neigh  and  Ethelberta 
together.  It  was  a  graceful  act  of  young  Lady  well's 
that,  in  the  midst  of  his  own  pain  at  the  strange  tale 
the  rose-leaves  suggested — Neigh's  rivalry,  Ethelberta's 
mutability,  his  own  defeat — he  w^as  not  regardless  of  the 
intense  embarrassment  which  might  have  been  caused 
had  he  remained. 

The  two  were  silent  at  first,  and  it  was  evident  that 
Ethelberta's  mood  was  one  of  anger  at  something  that 
had  gone  before.  She  turned  aside  from  him  to  follow 
the  others,  when  Neigh  spoke  in  a  tone  somewhat 
bitter  and  somewhat  stern. 

'  What — going  like  that !  After  being  compromised 
together,  why  don't  you  close  with  me  ?  Ladywell 
knows  all :  I  had  already  told  him  that  the  rose-leaves 
were  given  me  by  my  intended  wife.  We  seem  to  him 
to  be  practising  deceptions  all  of  a  piece,  and  what 
folly  it  is  to  play  off  so !  As  to  what  I  did,  that  I  ask 
your  forgiveness  for.' 

Ethelberta  looked  upon  the  ground  and  maintained 
a  compressed  lip.  Neigh  resumed  :  Tf  I  showed  more 
feeling  than  you  care  for,  I  insist  that  it  was  not  more 
than  was  natural  under  the  circumstances,  if  not  quite 
proper.  Opinions  may  differ,  but  my  experience  goes 
to  prove  that  conventional  squeamishness  at  such  times 
as  these  is  more  talked  and  written  about  than  practised. 
Plain  behaviour  must  be  expected  when  marriage  is 
the  question.     Nevertheless,  I  do  say — and  I  cannot 

220 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

say  more — that  I  am  sincerely  sorry  to  have  offended 
you  by  exceeding  my  privileges.  I  will  never  do  so 
again.' 

'  Don't  say  privileges.     You  have  none.' 

*  I  am  sorry  that  I  thought  otherwise,  and  that 
others  vrill  think  so  too.  Ladywell  is,  at  any  rate,  bent 
on  thinking  so.  ...  It  might  have  been  made  known 
to  him  in  a  gentle  way — but  God  disposes.' 

'  There  is  nothingr  to  make  known — I  don't  under- 
stand,'  said  Ethelberta,  going  from  him. 

By  this  time  Ladywell  had  walked  round  the  gravel 
w^alks  with  the  two  other  ladies  and  Mr.  Belmaine,  and 
they  were  all  turning  to  come  back  again.  The  young 
painter  had  deputed  his  voice  to  reply  to  their  remarks, 
but  his  understanding  continued  poring  upon  other 
things.  When  he  came  up  to  Ethelberta,  his  agitation 
had  left  him  :  she  too  was  free  from  constraint ;  while 
Neigh  was  some  distance  off,  carefully  examining 
nothing  in  particular  in  an  old  fragment  of  wall. 

The  little  party  was  now  united  again  as  to  its 
persons  ;  though  in  spirit  far  otherwise.  They  went 
through  the  church  in  general  talk,  Ladywell  sad  but 
serene,  and  Ethelberta  keeping  far-removed  both  from 
him  and  from  Neigh.  She  had  at  this  juncture 
entered  upon  that  Sphinx-like  stage  of  existence  in 
which,  contrary  to  her  earlier  manner,  she  signified  to 
no  one  of  her  ways,  plans,  or  sensations,  and  spoke 
little  on  any  subject  at  all.  There  were  occasional 
smiles  now  which  came  only  from  the  face,  and 
speeches  from  the  lips  merely. 

The  journey  home  was  performed  as  they  had 
come,  Ladywell  not  accepting  the  seat  in  Neigh's  cab 
which  was  phlegmatically  offered  him.  Mrs.  Don- 
castle's  acquaintance  with  Ethelberta  had  been  slight 
until  this  day;  but  the  afternoon's  proceeding  had  much 
impressed  the  matron  with  her  younger  friend.  Before 
they  parted  she  said,  w^ith  the  sort  of  affability  which  is 
meant  to  signify  the  beginning  of  permanent  friendship: 
*  A  friend  of  my  husband's,  Lord  Mountclere,  has  been 

221 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

anxious  for  some  time  to  meet  you.  He  is  a  great 
admirer  of  the  poems,  and  more  still  of  the  story-telling 
invention,  and  your  power  in  it.  He  has  been  present 
many  times  at  the  Mayfair  Hall  to  hear  you.  When 
will  you  dine  with  us  to  meet  him  ?  I  know  you  will 
like  him.     Will  Thursday  be  convenient  ? ' 

Ethelberta  stood  for  a  moment  reflecting,  and 
reflecting  hoped  that  Mrs.  Doncastle  had  not  noticed 
her  momentary  perplexity.  Crises  were  becoming  as 
common  with  her  as  blackberries ;  and  she  had 
foreseen  this  one  a  long  time.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
to  meet  Lord  Mountclere,  for  he  was  only  a  name  and 
a  distant  profile  to  her :  it  was  that  her  father  would 
necessarily  be  present  at  the  meeting,  in  the  most 
anomalous  position  that  human  nature  could  endure. 

However,  having  often  proved  in  her  disjointed 
experience  that  the  shortest  way  out  of  a  difficulty  lies 
straight  through  it,  Ethelberta  decided  to  dine  at  the 
Doncastles',  and,  as  she  murmured  that  she  should 
have  great  pleasure  in  meeting  any  friend  of  theirs,  set 
about  contriving  how  the  encounter  with  her  dearest 
relative  might  be  made  safe  and  unsuspected.  She 
bade  them  adieu  blithely  ;  but  the  thoughts  engendered 
by  the  invitation  stood  before  her  as  sorrowful  and 
rayless  ghosts  which  could  not  be  laid.  Often  at  such 
conjunctures  as  these,  when  the  futility  of  her  great 
undertaking  was  more  than  usually  manifest,  did  Ethel- 
berta long  like  a  tired  child  for  the  conclusion  of  the 
whole  matter ;  when  her  work  should  be  over,  and  the 
evening  come  ;  when  she  might  draw  her  boat  upon 
the  shore,  and  in  some  thymy  nook  await  eternal  night 
with  a  placid  mind. 


ETHELBERTA'S 
MR.    CHICKERELS  ROOM 

XXVIII 

The  question  of  Neigh  or  no  Neigh  had  reached  a 
pitch  of  insistence  which  no  longer  permitted  of  dally- 
ing, even  by  a  popular  beauty.  His  character  was 
becoming  defined  to  Ethelberta  as  something  very 
differently  composed  from  that  of  her  first  imagining. 
She  had  set  him  down  to  be  a  man  whose  external  in- 
excitability  owed  nothing  to  self-repression,  but  stood 
as  the  natural  surface  of  the  mass  within.  Neigh's 
urban  torpor,  she  said,  might  have  been  in  the  first 
instance  produced  by  art,  but,  were  it  thus,  it  had  gone 
so  far  as  to  permeate  him.  This  had  been  disproved, 
first  surprisingly,  by  his  reported  statement ;  wondrously, 
in  the  second  place,  by  his'  call  upon  her  and  sudden 
proposal ;  thirdly,  to  a  degree  simply  astounding,  by 
what  had  occurred  in  the  city  that  day.  For  Neigh, 
before  the  fervour  had  subsided  which  was  produced 
in  him  by  her  look  and  general  power  while  reading 
'  Paradise  Lost,'  found  himself  alone  with  her  in  a  nook 
outside  the  church,  and  there  had  almost  demanded 
her  promise  to  be  his  wife.  She  had  replied  by  asking 
for  time,  and  idly  offering  him  the  petals  of  her  rose, 
that  had  shed  themselves  in  her  hand.  Neio-h,  in 
taking  them,  pressed  her  fingers  more  warmly  than 
she  thought  she  had  given  him  warrant  for,  which 
offended  her.       It  was   certainly  a   very  momentary 

223 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

affair,  and  when  it  was  over  seemed  to  surprise  himself 
almost  as  much  as  it  had  vexed  her ;  but  it  had  re- 
minded her  of  one  truth  which  she  was  in  danger  of 
forgetting.  The  town  gentleman  was  not  half  so  far 
removed  from  Sol  and  Dan,  and  the  hard-handed 
order  in  general,  in  his  passions  as  in  his  philosophy. 
He  still  continued  to  be  the  male  of  his  species,  and 
when  the  heart  was  hot  with  a  dream  Pall  Mall  had 
much  the  same  aspect  as  Wessex. 

Well,  she  had  not  accepted  him  yet ;  indeed,  for  the 
moment  they  were  in  a  pet  with  one  another.  Yet 
that  might  soon  be  cleared  off,  and  then  recurred  the 
perpetual  question,  would  the  advantage  that  might 
accrue  to  her  people  by  her  marriage  be  worth  the 
sacrifice  ?  One  palliative  feature  must  be  remembered 
when  we  survey  the  matrimonial  ponderings  of  the 
poetess  and  romancer.  What  she  contemplated  was 
not  meanly  to  ensnare  a  husband  just  to  provide  in- 
comes for  her  and  her  family,  but  to  find  some  man 
she  mio-ht  respect,  who  would  maintain  her  in  such 
a  stage  of  comfort  as  should,  by  setting  her  mind 
free  from  temporal  anxiety,  enable  her  to  further 
organize  her  talent,  and  provide  incomes  for  them 
herself.  Plenty  of  saleable  originality  was  left  in  her 
as  yet,  but  it  was  getting  crushed  under  the  rubbish  of 
her  necessities. 

She  was  not  sure  that  Neigh  would  stand  the  test 
of  her  revelations.  It  would  be  possible  to  lead  him  to 
marry  her  without  revealing  anything — the  events  of 
the  last  few  days  had  shown  her  that — yet  Ethelberta's 
honesty  shrank  from  the  safe  course  of  holding  her 
toncoie.  It  might  be  pleasant  to  many  a  modern 
gendeman  to  find  himself  allied  with  a  lady,  none  of 
whose  ancestors  had  ever  pandered  to  a  court,  lost  an 
army,  taken  a  bribe,  oppressed  a  community,  or  broken 
a  bank  ;  but  the  added  disclosure  that,  in  avoiding 
these  stains,  her  kindred  had  worked  and  continued  to 
work  with  their  hands  for  bread,  might  lead  such  an 
one  to  consider  that  the  novelty  was  dearly  purchased. 

224 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  was,  upon  the  whole,  dissatisfied  with 
her  progress  thus  far.  She  had  planned  many  things 
and  fulfilled  few.  Had  her  father  been  by  this  time 
provided  for  and  made  independent  of  the  world,  as 
she  had  thought  he  might  be,  not  only  would  her 
course  with  regard  to  Neigh  be  quite  clear,  but  the 
impending  awkwardness  of  dining  with  her  father  be- 
hind her  chair  could  not  have  occurred.  True,  that 
was  a  small  matter  beside  her  regret  for  his  own  sake 
that  he  was  still  in  harness  ;  and  a  mere  change  of 
occupation  would  be  but  a  tribute  to  a  fastidiousness 
which  he  did  not  himself  share.  She  had  frequently 
tried  to  think  of  a  vocation  for  him  that  would  have 
a  more  dignified  sound,  and  be  less  dangerously  close 
to  her  own  path :  the  post  of  care-taker  at  some 
provincial  library,  country  stationer,  registrar  of  births 
and  deaths,  and  many  others  had  been  discussed  and 
dismissed  in  face  of  the  unmanageable  fact  that  her 
father  was  serenely  happy  and  comfortable  as  a  butler, 
looking  with  dread  at  any  hint  of  change  short  of 
perfect  retirement.  Since,  then,  she  could  not  offer 
him  this  retirement,  what  right  had  she  to  interfere 
with  his  mode  of  life  at  all  ?  In  no  other  social  groove 
on  earth  would  he  thrive  as  he  throve  in  his  present 
one,  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  from  boyhood, 
and  where  the  remuneration  was  actually  greater  than 
in  professions  ten  times  as  stately  in  name. 

For  the  rest,  too,  Ethelberta  had  indulged  in  hopes, 
the  high  education  of  the  younger  ones  being  the  chief 
of  these  darling  wishes.  Picotee  wanted  looking  to 
badly  enough.  Sol  and  Dan  required  no  material 
help ;  they  had  quickly  obtained  good  places  of  work 
under  a  Pimlico  builder ;  for  though  the  brothers 
scarcely  showed  as  yet  the  light-fingered  deftness  of 
London  artizans,  the  want  was  in  a  measure  com- 
pensated by  their  painstaking,  and  employers  are  far 
from  despising  country  hands  who  bring  with  them 
strength,  industry,  and  a  desire  to  please.  But  their 
sister  had  other  lines  laid  down  for  them  than  those 

225 


THE  HAiND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

of  level  progress  ;  to  start  them  some  day  as  masters  in- 
stead of  men  was  a  long-cherished  wish  of  Ethelberta's. 

Thus  she  had  quite  enough  machinery  in  her  hands 
to  keep  decently  going,  even  were  she  to  marry  a  man 
who  would  take  a  kindly  view  of  her  peculiar  situation, 
and  afford  her  opportunities  of  strengthening  her 
powers  for  her  kindred's  good.  But  what  would  be 
the  result  if,  eighteen  months  hence  —  the  date  at 
which  her  occupation  of  the  house  in  Exonbury 
Crescent  came  to  an  end — she  were  still  a  widow, 
with  no  accumulated  capital,  her  platform  talents 
grown  homely  and  stunted  through  narrow  living, 
and  her  tender  vein  of  poesy  completely  dispersed  by 
it  ?  To  calmly  relinquish  the  struggle  at  that  point 
would  have  been  the  act  of  a  stoic,  but  not  of  a 
woman,  particularly  when  she  considered  the  children, 
the  hopes  of  her  mother  for  them,  and  her  own  con- 
dition— thouorh  this  was  least — under  the  ironical 
cheers  which  would  greet  a  slip  back  into  the  mire. 

It  here  becomes  necessary  to  turn  for  a  moment  to 
Master  Joey  Chickerel,  Ethelberta's  troublesome  page 
and  brother.  The  face  of  this  juvenile  was  that  of  a 
Graeco- Roman  satyr  to  the  furthest  degree  of  complete- 
ness. Viewed  in  front,  the  outer  line  of  his  upper  lip 
rose  in  a  double  arch  nearly  to  his  little  round  nostrils, 
giving  an  expression  of  a  jollity  so  delicious  to  himself 
as  to  compel  a  perpetual  drawing  in  of  his  breath. 
During  half-laughs  his  lips  parted  in  the  middle,  and 
remained  closed  at  the  corners,  which  were  small  round 
pits  like  his  nostrils,  the  same  form  being  repeated  as 
dimples  a  little  further  back  upon  his  cheek.  The 
opening  for  each  eye  formed  a  sparkling  crescent,  both 
upper  and  under  lid  having  the  convexity  upwards. 

But  during  some  few  days  preceding  the  dinner- 
party at  the  Doncastles'  all  this  changed.  The 
luxuriant  curves  departed,  a  compressed  lineality  was 
to  be  observed  everywhere,  the  pupils  of  his  eyes 
seemed  flattened,  and  the  carriage  of  his  head  was 
limp  and  sideways.     This  was  a  feature  so  remarkable 

226 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

and  new  in  him  that  Picotee  noticed  it,  and  was  lifted 
from  the  melancholy  current  of  her  own  affairs  in 
contemplating  his. 

'  Well,  w^hat's  the  matter  ?  '  said  Picotee. 

*0 — nothing,'  said  Joey. 

*  Nothing  ?     How  can  you  say  so  ?  * 

*  The  world's  a  holler  mockery — that's  what  I  say.' 
*Yes,   so   it   is,   to   some;    but   not  to  you,'  said 

Picotee,  sighing. 

'  Don't  talk  argument,  Picotee.  I  only  hope  you'll 
never  feel  what  I  feel  now.  If  it  wasn't  for  my  juties 
here  I  know  what  I'd  do  ;  I'd  'list,  that's  what  I'd  do. 
But  having  my  position  to  fill  here  as  the  only  re- 
sponsible man-servant  in  the  house,  I  can't  leave.' 

*  Has  anybody  been  beating  you.f^ ' 

*  Beating !  Do  I  look  like  a  person  who  gets 
beatings  .f*  No,  it  is  a  madness,'  said  Joey,  putting 
his  hand  upon  his  chest.      '  The  case  is,  I  am  in  love.' 

'  O  Joey,  a  boy  no  bigger  than  you  are ! '  said 
Picotee  reprovingly.  Her  personal  interest  in  the 
passion,  however,  provoked  her  to  inquire,  in  the  next 
breath,  'Who  is  it.^     Do  tell,  Joey.' 

*  No  bicreer  than  I !  What  hev  biorness  to  do 
with  it  ?  That's  just  like  your  old-fashioned  notions. 
Bigness  is  no  more  wanted  in  courting  nowadays  than 
in  soldiering  or  smoking  or  any  other  duty  of  man. 
Husbands  is  rare  ;  and  a  promising  courter  who  means 
business  will  fetch  his  price  in  these  times,  big  or  small, 
I  assure  'e.  I  might  have  been  engaged  a  dozen 
times  over  as  far  as  the  bigness  goes.  You  should 
see  what  a  miserable  little  fellow  my  rival  is  afore  you 
talk  like  that.  Now  you  know  I've  got  a  rival, 
perhaps  you'll  own  there  must  be  something  in  it.' 

*  Yes,  that  seems  like  the  real  thing.  But  who  is 
the  young  woman  ?  ' 

'Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Picotee.  It  is 
Mrs.  Doncastle's  new  maid.  I  called  to  see  father 
last  night,  and  had  supper  there  ;  and  you  should  have 
seen  how  lovely  she  were — eating  sparrowgrass  side- 

227 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

ways,  as  If  she  were  born  to  it.  But,  of  course,  there's 
a  rival — there  always  is — I  might  have  known  that, 
and  I  will  crush  him  ! ' 

*  But  Mrs.  Doncastle's  new  maid — if  that  was  she 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  other  day — is  ever  so  much 
older  than  you — a  dozen  years.' 

'  What's  that  to  a  man  in  love  ?  Pooh — I  wish 
you  would  leave  me,  Picotee  ;   I  wants  to  be  alone.' 

A  short  time  after  this  Picotee  was  in  the  company 
of  Ethelberta,  and  she  took  occasion  to  mention 
Joey's  attachment.  Ethelberta  grew  exceedingly  angry 
directly  she  heard  of  it. 

'What  a  fearful  nuisance  that  boy  is  becoming,' 
she  said.      '  Does  father  know  anything  of  this  ?  ' 

*  I  think  not,'  said  Picotee.  '  O  no,  he  cannot ;  he 
would  not  allow  any  such  thing  to  go  on  ;  she  is  so 
much  older  than  Joey.' 

'  I  should  think  he  wouldn't  allow  it !  The  fact  is 
I  must  be  more  strict  about  this  growing  friendliness 
between  you  all  and  the  Doncastle  servants.  There 
shall  be  absolutely  no  intimacy  or  visiting  of  any  sort. 
When  father  wants  to  see  any  of  you  he  must  come 
here,  unless  there  is  a  most  serious  reason  for  your 
calling  upon  him.  Some  disclosure  or  reference  to  me 
otherwise  than  as  your  mistress,  will  certainly  be  made 
else,  and  then  I  am  ruined.  I  will  speak  to  father 
myself  about  Joey's  absurd  nonsense  this  evening.  I 
am  going  to  see  him  on  another  matter.'  And  Ethel- 
berta sighed.  *  I  am  to  dine  there  on  Thursday,'  she 
addedc 

'To  dine  there,  Berta?  Well,  that  is  a  strange 
thing !     Why,  father  will  be  close  to  you ! ' 

'Yes,'  said  Ethelberta  quietly. 

*  How  I  should  like  to  see  you  sitting  at  a  grand 
dinner-table,  among  lordly  dishes  and  shining  people, 
and  father  about  the  room  unnoticed !  Berta,  I  have 
never  seen  a  dinner-party  in  my  life,  and  father  said 
that  I  should  some  day ;  he  promised  me  long  ago.' 

'  How  will  he  be  able  to  carry  out  that,  my  dear 

228 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

child  ? '  said  Ethelberta,  drawing  her  sister  gently  to 
her  side. 

*  Father  says  that  for  an  hour  and  a  half  the  guests 
are  quite  fixed  in  the  dining-room,  and  as  unlikely  to 
move  as  if  they  were  trees  planted  round  the  table. 
Do  let  me  go  and  see  you,  Berta,'  Picotee  added 
coaxingly.  *  I  would  give  anything  to  see  how  you 
look  in  the  midst  of  elegant  people  talking  and  laugh- 
ing, and  you  my  own  sister  all  the  time,  and  me  looking 
on  like  puss-in-the-corner.* 

Ethelberta  could  hardly  resist  the  entreaty,  in  spite 
of  her  recent  resolution. 

*  We  will  leave  that  to  be  considered  when  I 
come  home  to-night,'  she  said.  *  I  must  hear  what 
father  says.' 

After  dark  the  same  evening  a  woman,  dressed  in 
plain  black  and  wearing  a  hood,  went  to  the  servants' 
entrance  of  Mr.  Doncastle's  house,  and  inquired  for 
Mr.  Chickerel.  Ethelberta  found  him  in  a  room  by 
himself,  and  on  entering  she  closed  the  door  behind 
her,  and  unwrapped  her  face. 

'  Can  you  sit  with  me  a  few  minutes,  father  ? '  she 
said. 

*Yes,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,'  said  the 
butler.  *  Has  anything  happened  ?  I  thought  it 
might  be  Picotee.' 

'  No.  All's  well  yet.  But  I  thought  it  best  to  see 
you  upon  one  or  two  matters  which  are  harassing  me 
a  little  just  now.  The  first  is,  that  stupid  boy  Joey 
has  got  entangled  in  some  way  with  the  lady's-maid 
at  this  house ;  a  ridiculous  affair  it  must  be  by  all 
account,  but  it  is  too  serious  for  me  to  treat  lightly. 
She  will  worm  everything  out  of  him,  and  a  pretty 
business  it  will  be  then.' 

'  God  bless  my  soul !  why,  the  woman  is  old  enough 
to  be  his  mother !  I  have  never  heard  a  sound  of  it 
till  now.     What  do  you  propose  to  do  ? ' 

*  I  have  hardly  thought :  I  cannot  tell  at  all.  But 
we  will  consider  that  after   I   have  done.     The  next 

229 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

thing  is,  I   am  to   dine  here  Thursday — that  Is,  to- 
morrow.' 

'  You  going  to  dine  here,  are  you  ? '  said  her  father 
in  surprise.  '  Dear  me,  that's  news.  We  have  a 
dinner-party  to-morrow,  but  I  was  not  aware  that  you 
knew  my  people.' 

*  I  have  accepted  the  invitation,'  said  Ethelberta. 
*  But  if  you  think  I  had  better  stay  away,  I  will  get 
out  of  it  by  some  means.  Heavens !  what  does  that 
mean — will  anybody  come  in  ? '  she  added,  rapidly 
pulling  up  her  hood  and  jumping  from  the  seat  as 
the  loud  tones  of  a  bell  clanged  forth  in  startling 
proximity. 

'O  no — it  is  all  safe,'  said  her  father.  '  It  is  the 
area  door — nothing  to  do  with  me.  About  the  dinner  : 
I  don't  see  why  you  may  not  come.  Of  course  you 
will  take  no  notice  of  me,  nor  shall  I  of  you.  It  is  to 
be  rather  a  large  party.  Lord  What's-his-name  is 
coming,  and  several  good  people.' 

*  Yes  ;  he  is  coming  to  meet  me,  it  appears.  But, 
father,'  she  said  more  softly  and  slowly,  'how  wrong 
it  will  be  for  me  to  come  so  close  to  you,  and  never 
recognize  you !  I  don't  like  it.  I  wish  you  could  have 
given  up  service  by  this  time  ;  it  would  have  been  so 
much  less  painful  for  us  all  round.  I  thought  we  might 
have  been  able  to  manage  it  somehow.' 

*  Nonsense,  nonsense,'  said  Mr.  Chickerel  crossly. 
'  There  is  not  the  least  reason  why  I  should  give  up. 
I  want  to  save  a  little  money  first.  If  you  don't  like 
me  as  I  am,  you  must  keep  away  from  me.  Don't  be 
uneasy  about  my  comfort ;  I  am  right  enough,  thank 
God.      I  can  mind  myself  for  many  a  year  yet.' 

Ethelberta  looked  at  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
but  she  did  not  speak.  She  never  could  help  crying 
when  she  met  her  father  here. 

'  I  have  been  in  service  now  for  more  than  seven- 
and-thirty  years,'  her  father  went  on.  'It  is  an 
honourable  calling ;  and  why  should  you  maintain  me 
because  you  can  earn  a  few  pounds  by  your  gifts,  and 

230 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

an  old  woman  left  you  her  house  and  a  few  sticks  of 
furniture?  If  she  had  left  you  any  money  it  would 
have  been  a  different  thing,  but  as  you  have  to  work 
for  every  penny  you  get,  I  cannot  think  of  it.  Suppose 
I  should  agree  to  come  and  live  with  you,  and  then 
you  should  be  ill,  or  such  like,  and  I  no  longer  able 
to  help  myself?  O  no,  I'll  stick  where  I  am,  for 
here  I  am  safe  as  to  food  and  shelter  at  any  rate. 
Surely,  Ethelberta,  it  is  only  right  that  I,  who  ought 
to  keep  you  all,  should  at  least  keep  your  mother 
and  myself?  As  to  our  position,  that  we  cannot 
help ;  and  I  don't  mind  that  you  are  unable  to  own 
me.' 

*  I  wish  I  could  own  you — all  of  you.' 

'  Well,  you  chose  your  course,  my  dear ;  and  you 
must  abide  by  it.  Having  put  your  hand  to  the  plough, 
it  will  be  foolish  to  turn  back.' 

'  It  would,  I  suppose.  Yet  I  wish  I  could  get  a 
living  by  some  simple  humble  occupation,  and  drop  the 
name  of  Petherwin,  and  be  Berta  Chickerel  again, 
and  live  in  a  green  cottage  as  we  used  to  do  when  I 
was  small.  I  am  miserable  to  a  pitiable  degree  some- 
times, and  sink  into  regrets  that  I  ever  fell  into  such 
a  groove  as  this.  I  don't  like  covert  deeds,  such  as 
coming  here  to-night,  and  many  are  necessary  with 
me  from  time  to  time.  There  is  something  without 
which  splendid  energies  are  a  drug ;  and  that  is  a  cold 
heart.  There  is  another  thing  necessary  to  energy, 
too — the  power  of  distinguishing  your  visions  from 
your  reasonable  forecasts  when  looking  into  the  future, 
so  as  to  allow  your  energy  to  lay  hold  of  the  forecasts 
only.  I  begin  to  have  a  fear  that  mother  is  right 
when  she  implies  that  I  undertook  to  carry  out 
visions  and  all.  But  ten  of  us  are  so  many  to  cope 
with.  If  God  Almighty  had  only  killed  off  three- 
quarters  of  us  when  we  were  little,  a  body  might 
have  done  something  for  the  rest ;  but  as  we  are  it 
is  hopeless !  * 

*  There  is  no  use  in  your  going  into  high  doctrine 

231 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

like  that,'  said  Chickerel.  '  As  I  said  before,  you  chose 
your  course.  You  have  begun  to  fly  high,  and  you  had 
better  keep  there.' 

'  And  to  do  that  there  is  only  one  way — that  is, 
to  do  it  surely,  so  that  I  have  some  groundwork  to 
enable  me  to  keep  up  to  the  mark  in  my  profession. 
That  way  is  marriage.' 

'  Marriage  ?     Who  are  you  going  to  marry  ?  * 

*  God  knows.  Perhaps  Lord  Mountclere.  Stranger 
things  have  happened.* 

'  Yes,  so  they  have  ;  though  not  many  wretcheder 
things.  I  would  sooner  see  you  in  your  grave,  Ethel- 
berta,  than  Lord  Mountclere's  wife,  or  the  wife  of  any- 
body like  him,  great  as  the  honour  would  be.' 

*  Of  course  that  was  only  something  to  say  ;  I  don't 
know  the  man  even.' 

'  I  know  his  valet.  However,  marry  who  you  may, 
I  hope  you'll  be  happy,  my  dear  girl.  You  would  be 
still  more  divided  from  us  in  that  event ;  but  when 
your  mother  and  I  are  dead,  it  will  make  litde 
difference.' 

Ethelberta  placed  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
smiled  cheerfully.  '  Now,  father,  don't  despond.  All 
will  be  well,  and  we  shall  see  no  such  misfortune  as 
that  for  many  a  year.  Leave  all  to  me.  I  am  a  rare 
hand  at  contrivances.' 

'  You  are  indeed,  Berta.  It  seems  to  me  quite 
wonderful  that  we  should  be  living  so  near  together 
and  nobody  suspect  the  relationship,  because  of  the 
precautions  you  have  taken.' 

'  Yet  the  precautions  were  rather  Lady  Petherwin's 
than  mine,  as  you  know.  Consider  how  she  kept  me 
abroad.  My  marriage  being  so  secret  made  it  easy  to 
cut  off  all  traces,  unless  anybody  had  made  it  a  special 
business  to  search  for  them.  That  people  should  sus- 
pect as  yet  would  be  by  far  the  more  wonderful  thing 
of  the  two.  But  we  must,  for  one  thing,  have  no 
visiting  between  our  girls  and  the  servants  here,  or 
they  soon  will  suspect.' 

232 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  then  laid  down  a  few  laws  on  the  subject, 
and,  explaining  the  other  details  of  her  visit,  told  her 
father  soon  that  she  must  leave  him. 

He  took  her  along  the  passage  and  into  the  area. 
They  were  standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  saying 
a  few  parting  words  about  Picotee's  visit  to  see  the 
dinner,  when  a  female  figure  appeared  by  the  railing 
above,  slipped  in  at  the  gate,  and  flew  down  the  steps 
past  the  father  and  daughter.  At  the  moment  of  pass- 
ing she  whispered  breathlessly  to  him,  *  Is  that  you, 
Mr.  Chickerel  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  butler. 

She  tossed  into  his  arms  a  quantity  of  wearing  ap- 
parel, and  adding,  *  Please  take  them  upstairs  for  me — 
I  am  late,'  rushed  into  the  house. 

'  Good  heavens,  what  does  that  mean  ?'  said  Ethel- 
berta, holding  her  father's  arm  in  her  uneasiness. 

'  That's  the  new  lady's-maid,  just  come  in  from  an 
evening  walk — that  young  scamp's  sweetheart,  if  what 
you  tell  me  is  true.  I  don't  yet  know  what  her  char- 
acter is,  but  she  runs  neck  and  neck  with  time  closer 
than  any  woman  I  ever  met.  She  stays  out  at  night 
like  this  till  the  last  moment,  and  often  throws  off  her 
dashing  courting-clothes  in  this  way,  as  she  runs  down 
the  steps,  to  save  a  journey  to  the  top  of  the  house  to 
her  room  before  going  to  Mrs.  Doncas tie's,  who  is  in 
fact  at  this  minute  waiting  for  her.  Only  look  here.' 
Chickerel  gathered  up  a  hat  decked  with  feathers  and 
flowers,  a  parasol,  and  a  light  muslin  train-skirt,  out  of 
the  pocket  of  the  latter  tumbling  some  long  golden 
tresses  of  hair. 

'What  an  extraordinary  woman,'  said  Ethelberta. 
*A  perfect  Cinderella.  The  idea  of  Joey  getting 
desperate  about  a  woman  like  that ;  no  doubt  she  has 
just  come  in  from  meeting  him.' 

*  No  doubt — a  blockhead.  That's  his  taste,  is  it ! 
I'll  soon  see  if  I  can't  cure  his  taste  if  it  inclines  towards 
Mrs.  Menlove.' 

*  Mrs.  what  ?  ' 

233 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Menlove  ;  that's  her  name.  She  came  about  a 
fortnight  ago.' 

'  And  is  that  Menlove — what  shall  we  do ! '  ex- 
claimed Ethelberta.  '  The  idea  of  the  boy  singling 
out  her — why  it  is  ruin  to  him,  to  me,  and  to  us  all ! ' 

She  hastily  explained  to  her  father  that  Menlove 
had  been  Lady  Petherwin's  maid  and  her  own  at  some 
time  before  the  death  of  her  mother-in-law,  that  she 
had  only  stayed  with  them  through  a  three  months' 
tour  because  of  her  flightiness,  and  hence  had  learnt 
nothing  of  Ethelberta's  history,  and  probably  had  never 
thought  at  all  about  it.  But  nevertheless  they  were  as 
well  acquainted  as  a  lady  and  her  maid  well  could  be 
in  the  time.  '  Like  all  such  doubtful  characters,'  con- 
tinued Ethelberta,  'she  was  one  of  the  cleverest  and 
licrhtest-handed  women  we  ever  had  about  us.  When 
she  first  came,  my  hair  was  getting  quite  weak  ;  but 
by  brushing  it  every  day  in  a  peculiar  manner,  and 
treating^  it  as  onlv  she  knew  how,  she  brought  it  into 
splendid  condition.' 

*  Well,  this  is  the  devil  to  pay,  upon  my  life ! '  said 
Mr.  Chickerel,  with  a  miserable  gaze  at  the  bundle  of 
clothes  and    the  o-eneral  situation  at    the  same   time. 

*  Unfortunately  for  her  friendship,  I  have  snubbed  her 
two  or  three  times  already,  for  I  don't  care  about  her 
manner.  You  know  she  has  a  way  of  trading  on  a 
man's  sense  of  honour  till  it  puts  him  into  an  awkward 
position.  She  is  perfectly  well  aware  that,  whatever 
scrape  I  find  her  out  in,  I  shall  not  have  the  con- 
science to  report  her,  because  I  am  a  man,  and  she 
is  a  defenceless  woman  ;  and  so  she  takes  advantage 
of  one's  feeling  by  making  me,  or  either  of  the  men- 
servants,  her  bottle-holder,  as  you  see  she  has  done 
now.' 

'This    is    all    simply   dreadful,'   said    Ethelberta. 

*  Joey  is  shrewd  and  trustworthy  ;  but  in  the  hands  of 
such  a  woman  as  that !  I  suppose  she  did  not  recog- 
nize me.' 

'  There  was  no  chance  of  that  in  the  dark,' 

234 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'Well,  I  cannot  do  anything  in  it/  said  she.  'I 
cannot  manage  Joey  at  all.' 

'  I  will  see  if  I  can,'  said  Mr.  Chickerel.  *  Courting 
at  his  age,  indeed — what  shall  we  hear  next ! ' 

Chickerel  then  accompanied  his  daughter  along  the 
street  till  an  empty  cab  passed  them,  and  putting  her 
into  it  he  returned  to  the  house  again. 


ETHELBERTAS 

DRESSING-ROOM 
MR.    DONCASTLES  HOUSE 

XXIX 

The  dressing  of  Ethelberta  for  the  dinner-party  was 
an  undertaking  Into  which  Picotee  threw  her  whole 
skill  as  tirewoman.  Her  energies  were  brisker  that 
day  than  they  had  been  at  any  time  since  the  Julians 
first  made  preparations  for  departure  from  town  ;  for 
a  letter  had  come  to  her  from  Faith,  telling  of  their 
arrival  at  the  old  cathedral  city,  which  was  found  to 
suit  their  Inclinations  and  habits  infinitely  better  than 
London  ;  and  that  she  would  like  Picotee  to  visit 
them  there  some  day.  Picotee  felt,  and  so  probably 
felt  the  writer  of  the  letter,  that  such  a  visit  would 
not  be  very  practicable  just  now ;  but  it  was  a 
pleasant  Idea,  and  for  fastening  dreams  upon  was  better 
than  nothing^. 

Such  musings  were  encouraged  also  by  Ethelberta  s 
remarks  as  the  dresslnor  went  on. 

*We  will  have  a  change  soon,'  she  said;  'we  will 
go  out  of  town  for  a  few  days.  It  will  do  good  in 
many  ways.  I  am  getting  so  alarmed  about  the  health 
of  the  children  ;  their  faces  are  becoming  so  white 
and  thin  and  pinched  that  an  old  acquaintance  would 
hardly  know  them  ;  and  they  were  so  plump  when 
they  came.     You  are  looking  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  I 

236 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

daresay  I  am  too.     A  week  or  two  at  Knollsea  will  see 
us  right.' 

'  O,  how  charming ! '  said  Picotee  gladly. 

Knollsea  was  a  village  on  the  coast,  not  very  far 
from  Melchester,  the  new  home  of  Christopher  ;  not 
very  far,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  eye  of  a  sweetheart ;  but 
seeing  that  there  was,  as  the  crow  flies,  a  stretch 
of  thirty-five  miles  between  the  two  places,  and  that 
more  than  one-third  the  distance  was  without  a  railway, 
an  elderly  gentleman  might  have  considered  their 
situations  somewhat  remote  from  each  other. 

'  Why  have  you  chosen  Knollsea  ? '  inquired 
Picotee. 

'  Because  of  aunt's  letter  from  Rouen — have  you 
seen  it  ? ' 

'  I  did  not  read  it  through.' 

'  She  wants  us  to  get  a  copy  of  the  register  of  her 
baptism  ;  and  she  is  not  absolutely  certain  which  of  the 
parishes  in  and  about  Knollsea  they  were  living  in  when 
she  was  born.  Mother,  being  a  year  younger,  cannot 
tell  of  course.  First  I  thought  of  writing  to  the  clergy- 
man of  each  parish,  but  that  would  be  troublesome,  and 
might  reveal  the  secret  of  my  birth ;  but  if  we  go  down 
there  for  a  few  days,  and  take  some  lodgings,  we  shall 
be  able  to  find  out  all  about  it  at  leisure.  Gwendoline 
and  Joey  can  attend  to  mother  and  the  people  down- 
stairs, especially  as  father  will  look  in  every  evening 
until  he  goes  out  of  town,  to  see  if  they  are  getting  on 
properly.  It  will  be  such  a  weight  off  my  soul  to  slip 
away  from  acquaintances  here.' 

'Will  it?' 

*  Yes.  At  the  same  time  I  ought  not  to  speak  so, 
for  they  have  been  very  kind.  I  wish  we  could  go  to 
Rouen  afterwards ;  aunt  repeats  her  invitation  as 
usual.  However,  there  is  time  enough  to  think  of 
that.' 

Ethelberta  was  dressed  at  last,  and,  beholding  the 
lonely  look  of  poor  Picotee  when  about  to  leave  the 
room,  she  could  not  help  having  a  sympathetic  feeling 

237 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

that  it  was  rather  hard  for  her  sister  to  be  denied  so 
small  an  enjoyment  as  a  menial  peep  at  a  feast  when 
she  herself  was  to  sit  down  to  it  as  guest. 

*  If  you  still  want  to  go  and  see  the  procession 
downstairs  you  may  do  so,'  she  said  reluctantly  ;  'pro- 
vided that  you  take  care  of  your  tongue  when  you 
come  in  contact  with  Menlove,  and  adhere  to  father's 
instructions  as  to  how  long  you  may  stay.  It  may  be 
in  the  highest  degree  unwise  ;  but  never  mind,  go.' 

Then  Ethelberta  departed  for  the  scene  of  action, 
just  at  the  hour  of  the  sun's  lowest  decline,  when  it 
was  fading  away,  yellow  and  mild  as  candle-light,  and 
when  upper  windows  facing  north-west  reflected  to 
persons  in  the  street  dissolving  views  of  tawny  cloud 
with  brazen  edges,  the  original  picture  of  the  same 
being  hidden  from  sight  by  soiled  walls  and  slaty 
slopes. 

Before  entering  the  presence  of  host  and  hostess, 
Ethelberta  contrived  to  exchange  a  few  words  with 
her  father. 

'  In  excellent  time,'  he  whispered,  full  of  paternal 
pride  at  the  superb  audacity  of  her  situation  here  in 
relation  to  his.     '  About  half  of  them  are  come.* 

'  Mr.  Neigh  ? ' 

*  Not  yet ;  he's  coming.* 

*  Lord  Mountclere  ? ' 

'Yes.  He  came  absurdly  early;  ten  minutes 
before  anybody  else,  so  that  Mrs.  D.  could  hardly  get 
on  her  bracelets  and  things  soon  enough  to  scramble 
downstairs  and  receive  him  ;  and  he's  as  nervous  as  a 
boy.      Keep  up  your  spirits,  dear,  and  don't  mind  me.' 

*  I  will,  father.  And  let  Picotee  see  me  at  dinner 
if  you  can.  She  is  very  anxious  to  look  at  me.  She 
will  be  here  directly.,' 

And  Ethelberta,  having  been  announced,  joined 
the  chamberful  of  assembled  guests,  among  whom  for 
the  present  we  lose  sight  of  her. 

Meanwhile  the  evening  outside  the  house  was 
deepening  in  tone,  and  the  lamps  began  to  blink  up. 

2^S 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Her  sister  having  departed,  Picotee  hastily  arrayed 
herself  in  a  little  black  jacket  and  chip  hat,  and  tripped 
across  the  park  to  the  same  point.  Chickerel  had 
directed  a  maid-servant  known  as  Jane  to  receive  his 
humbler  daughter  and  make  her  comfortable  ;  and  that 
friendly  person,  who  spoke  as  if  she  had  known  Picotee 
five-and-twenty  years,  took  her  to  the  housekeeper's 
room,  where  the  visitor  deposited  her  jacket  and  hat, 
and  rested  awhile. 

A  quick-eyed,  light-haired,  slight-built  woman  came 
in  when  Jane  had  gone.  'Are  you  Miss  Chickerel.^' 
she  said  to  Picotee. 

'  Yes,'  said  Picotee,  guessing  that  this  was  Menlove, 
and  fearing  her  a  little. 

'Jane  tells  me  that  you  have  come  to  visit  your 
father,  and  would  like  to  look  at  the  company  going  to 
dinner.  Well,  they  are  not  much  to  see,  you  know  ; 
but  such  as  they  are  you  are  welcome  to  the  sight  of. 
Come  along  with  me.' 

'  I  think  I  would  rather  wait  for  father,  if  you  will 
excuse  me,  please.' 

*  Your  father  is  busy  now  ;  it  is  no  use  for  you  to 
think  of  saying  anything  to  him.' 

Picotee  followed  her  guide  up  a  back  staircase  to 
the  height  of  several  flights,  and  then,  crossing  a 
landing,  they  descended  to  the  upper  part  of  the  front 
stairs. 

*  Now  look  over  the  balustrade,  and  you  will  see 
them  all  in  a  minute,'  said  Mrs.  Menlove.  '  O,  you 
need  not  be  timid  ;  you  can  look  out  as  far  as  you  like. 

We  are  all  independent  here  ;  no  slavery  for  us  :  it  is       \. 
not  as  it  is  in  the  country,  where  servants  are  con- 
sidered to  be  of  different  blood  and  bone  from  their 
employei-s,  and  to  have  no  eyes  for  anything  but  their 
work.      Here  they  are  coming.' 

Picotee  then  had  the  pleasure  of  looking  down  upon 
a  series  of  human  crowns — some  black,  some  white, 
some  strangely  built  upon,  some  smooth  and  shining — 
descending  the    staircase   in    disordered    column    and 

239 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

great  discomfort,  their  owners  try^ing  to  talk,  but 
breaking  off  in  the  midst  of  syllables  to  look  to  their 
footing.  The  young  girl's  eyes  had  not  drooped  over 
the  handrail  more  than  a  few  moments  when  she  softly 
exclaimed,  'There  she  is,  there  she  is!  How  lovely 
she  looks,  does  she  not  ?  ' 

'  Who  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Menlove. 

Picotee  recollected  herself,  and  hastilv  drew  in  her 
impulses.  '  My  dear  mistress,'  she  said  blandly. 
*  That  is  she  on  Mr.  Doncastle's  arm.  And  look, 
who  is  that  funny  old  man  the  elderly  lady  is  helping 
downstairs  ? ' 

'He  is  our  honoured  guest.  Lord  Mountclere. 
Mrs.  Doncastle  will  have  him  all  through  the  dinner, 
and  after  that  he  will  devote  himself  to  Mrs.  Petherwin, 
your  "dear  mistress."  He  keeps  looking  towards  her 
now,  and  no  doubt  thinks  it  a  nuisance  that  she  is  not 
with  him.  Well,  it  is  useless  to  stay  here.  Come  a 
little  further — we'll  follow  them.*  Menlove  began  to 
lead  the  way  downstairs,  but  Picotee  held  back. 

'  W^on't  they  see  us  ? '  she  said. 

'  No.  And  if  they  do,  it  doesn't  matter.  Mrs. 
Doncastle  would  not  object  in  the  least  to  the  daughter 
of  her  respected  head  man  being  accidentally  seen  in 
the  hall' 

They  descended  to  the  bottom  and  stood  in  the 
hall.  '  O,  there's  father ! '  whispered  Picotee,  with 
childlike  gladness,  as  Chickerel  became  visible  to  her 
by  the  door.  The  butler  nodded  to  his  daughter,  and 
became  again  engrossed  in  his  duties. 

'  1  wish  I  could  see  her — my  mistress — again,'  said 
Picotee. 

*  You  seem  mightily  concerned  about  your  mistress,* 
said  Menlove.  '  Do  you  want  to  see  if  you  have 
dressed  her  properly  ? ' 

*  Yes,  partly ;  and  I  like  her,  too.  She  is  very 
kind  to  me.* 

'  You  will  have  a  chance  of  seeing  her  soon.  When 
the  door  is  nicely  open  you  can  look  in  for  a  moment. 

240 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

I  must  leave  you  now  for  a  few  minutes,  but  I  will 
come  aofain.' 

Menlove  departed,  and  Picotee  stood  waiting.  She 
wondered  how  Ethelberta  was  getting  on,  and  whether 
she  enjoyed  herself  as  much  as  it  seemed  her  duty 
to  do  in  such  a  superbly  hospitable  place.  Picotee 
then  turned  her  attention  to  the  hall,  everv^  article  of 
furniture  therein  appearing  worthy  of  scrutiny  to  her 
unaccustomed  eves.  Here  she  walked  and  looked 
about  for  a  long  time  till  an  excellent  opportunity 
offered  itself  of  seeing  how  affairs  progressed  in  the 
dininor-room. 

Through  the  partly -opened  door  there  became 
visible  a  sideboard  which  first  attracted  her  attention 
by  its  richness.  It  was,  indeed,  a  noticeable  example 
of  modern  art -workmanship,  in  being  exceptionally 
larore,  with  curious  ebonv  mouldinsfs  at  different  stages  ; 
and,  while  the  heavy  cupboard  doors  at  the  bottom 
were  enriched  with  inlays  of  paler  wood,  other  panels 
were  decorated  with  tiles,  as  if  the  massive  composition 
had  been  erected  on  the  spot  as  part  of  the  solid 
building.  However,  it  was  on  a  space  higher  up  that 
Picotee's  eves  and  thouorhts  were  fixed.  In  the  ereat 
mirror  above  the  middle  ledge  she  could  see  reflected 
the  upper  part  of  the  dining-room,  and  this  suggested 
to  her  that  she  might  see  Ethelberta  and  the  other 
guests  reflected  in  the  same  way  by  standing  on  a 
chair,  which,  quick  as  thought,  she  did. 

To  Picotee's  dazed  vounof  vision  her  beautiful 
sister  appeared  as  the  chief  figure  of  a  glorious 
pleasure  -  parliament  of  both  sexes,  surrounded  by 
whole  regiments  of  candles  grouped  here  and  there 
about  the  room.  She  and  her  companions  were 
seated  before  a  larofe  flower-bed,  or  small  hanofincf 
garden,  fixed  at  about  the  level  of  the  elbow,  the 
attention  of  all  being  concentrated  rather  upon  the 
uninteresting  margin  of  the  bed,  and  upon  each  other, 
than  on  the  beautiful  natural  objects  growing  in  the 
middle,   as  it  seemed  to   Picotee.     In   the   ripple   of 

241 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

conversation  Ethelberta's  clear  voice  could  occasionally 
be  heard,  and  her  young  sister  could  see  that  her  eyes 
were  bright,  and  her  face  beaming,  as  if  divers  social 
wants  and  looming  penuriousness  had  never  been 
within  her  experience.  Mr.  Doncastle  was  quite 
absorbed  in  what  she  was  saying.  So  was  the  queer 
old  man  whom  Menlove  had  called  Lord  Mountclere. 

'  The  dashing  widow  looks  very  well,  does  she 
not  ? '  said  a  person  at  Picotee's  elbow. 

It  was  her  conductor  Menlove,  now  returned  again, 
whom  Picotee  had  quite  forgotten. 

*  She  will  do  some  damage  here  to-night  you  will 
find,'  continued  Menlove.  '  How  long  have  you  been 
with  her  ? ' 

'  O,  a  long  time — I  mean  rather  a  short  time,' 
stammered  Picotee. 

'  I  know  her  well  enough.  I  was  her  maid  once, 
or  rather  her  mother-in-law's,  but  that  was  long  before 
you  knew  her.  I  did  not  by  any  means  find  her  so 
lovable  as  you  seem  to  think  her  when  I  had  to  do 
with  her  at  close  quarters.  An  awful  flirt — awful. 
Don't  you  find  her  so  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know.' 

'  If  you  don't  yet  you  will  know.  But  come  down 
from  your  perch — the  dining-room  door  will  not  be 
open  again  for  some  time — and  I  will  show  you  about 
the  rooms  upstairs.  This  is  a  larger  house  than  Mrs. 
Petherwin's,  as  you  see.  Just  come  and  look  at  the 
drawing-rooms.' 

Wishing  much  to  get  rid  of  Menlove,  yet  fearing 
to  offend  her,  Picotee  followed  upstairs.  Dinner  was 
almost  over  by  this  time,  and  when  they  entered  the 
front  drawing-room  a  young  man-servant  and  maid 
were  there  rekindling  the  lights. 

*  Now  let's  have  a  game  of  cat-and-mice,'  said  the 
maid-servant  cheerily.  '  There's  plenty  of  time  before 
they  come  up.' 

*  Agreed,'  said  Menlove  promptly.  *  You  will  play, 
will  you  not,  Miss  Chickerel  ?  ' 

242 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  No,  indeed,'  said  Picotee,  aghast. 
'  Never  mind,  then  ;  you  look  on.' 

Away  tlxcn  ran  the  housemaid  and  Menlove,  and 
the  young  footman  started  at  their  heels.  Round  the 
room,  over  the  furniture,  under  the  furniture,  through 
the  furniture,  out  of  one  window,  along  the  balcony,  in 
at  another  window,  again  round  the  room — so  they 
glided  with  the  swiftness  of  swallows  and  the  noise- 
lessness  of  ghosts. 

Then  the  housemaid  drew  a  jew's-harp  from  her 
pocket,  and  struck  up  a  lively  waltz  sotto  voce.  The 
footman  seized  Menlove,  w^ho  appeared  nothing  loth, 
and  began  spinning  gently  round  the  room  with  her, 
to  the  time  of  the  fascinating  measure 

Which  fashion  hails,  from  countesses  to  queens, 
And  maids  and  valets  dance  behind  the  scenes. 

Picotee,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  unceiled 
country  cottages  all  her  life,  wherein  the  scamper  of  a 
mouse  is  heard  distinctly  from  floor  to  floor,  exclaimed 
in  a  terrified  whisper,  at  viewing  all  this,  *  They'll  hear 
you  underneath,  they'll  hear  you,  and  we  shall  all  be 
ruined ! ' 

*  Not  at  all,'  came  from  the  cautious  dancers. 
*  These  are  some  of  the  best  built  houses  in  London — 
double  floors,  filled  in  with  material  that  will  deaden 
any  row  you  like  to  make,  and  we  make  none.  But 
come  and  have  a  turn  yourself,  Miss  Chickerel.' 

The  young  man  relinquished  Menlove,  and  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  seized  Picotee.  Picotee  flounced 
away  from  him  in  indignation,  backing  into  a  corner 
with  ruffled  feathers,  like  a  pullet  trying  to  appear 
a  hen. 

'  How  dare  you  touch  me ! '  she  said,  with  rounded 
eyes.  'I'll  tell  somebody  downstairs  of  you,  who'll 
soon  see  about  it ! ' 

'What  a  baby  ;  she'll  tell  her  father.' 

*  No  I  shan't ;  somebody  you  are  all  afraid  of,  that's 
who  I'll  telL' 

243 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Nonsense,'  said  Menlove  ;  'he  meant  no  harm.' 
Playtime  was  now  getting  short,  and  further  antics 

being  dangerous  on  that  account,  the  performers  retired 
again  downstairs,  Picotee  of  necessity  following.  Her 
nerves  were  screwed  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  uneasi- 
ness by  the  grotesque  habits  of  these  men  and  maids, 
who  were  quite  unlike  the  country  servants  she  had 
known,  and  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  pixies,  elves, 
or  gnomes,  peeping  up  upon  human  beings  from  their 
shady  haunts  underground,  sometimes  for  good,  some- 
times for  ill — sometimes  doing  heavy  work,  sometimes 
none  ;  teasing  and  worrying  with  impish  laughter  half 
suppressed,  and  vanishing  directly  mortal  eyes  were 
bent  on  them.  Separate  and  distinct  from  overt 
existence  under  the  sun,  this  life  could  hardly  be 
without  its  distinctive  pleasures,  all  of  them  being 
more  or  less  pervaded  by  thrills  and  titillations  from 
games  of  hazard,  and  the  perpetual  risk  of  sensational 
surprises. 

Long  before  this  time  Picotee  had  begun  to  be 
anxious  to  get  home  again,  but  Menlove  seemed  par- 
ticularly to  desire  her  company,  and  pressed  her  to  sit 
awhile,  telling  her  young  friend,  by  way  of  entertain- 
ment, of  various  extraordinary  love  adventures  in 
which  she  had  figured  as  heroine  w^hen  travelling  on 
the  Continent.  These  stories  had  one  and  all  a 
remarkable  likeness  in  a  certain  point — Menlove  was 
always  unwilling  to  love  the  adorer,  and  the  adorer 
was  always  unwilling  to  live  afterwards  on  account 
of  it. 

*  Ha — ha — ha ! '  in  men's  voices  was  heard  from 
the  distant  dining-room  as  the  two  women  went  on 
talking. 

'And  then,'  continued  Menlove,  'there  was  that 
duel  I  was  the  cause  of  between  the  courier  and  the 
French  valet.  Dear  me,  what  a  trouble  that  was  ; 
yet  I  could  do  nothing  to  prevent  it.  This  courier 
was  a  very  handsome  man — they  are  handsome  some- 
times.' 

244 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  Yes,  they  are.     My  aunt  married  one.' 
'  Did  she  ?     Where  do  they  live  ? ' 

*  They  keep  an  hotel  at  Rouen,'  murmured  PIcotee, 
in  doubt  whether  this  should  have  been  told  or  not. 

'Well,  he  used  to  follow  me  to  the  English  Church 
every  Sunday  regularly,  and  I  was  so  determined  not 
to  give  my  hand  where  my  heart  could  never  be,  that 
I  slipped  out  at  the  other  door  while  he  stood  expecting 
me  by  the  one  I  entered.  Here  I  met  M.  Pierre, 
when,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  the  other  came  round 
the  corner,  and  seeing  me  talking  to  the  valet,  he 
challenged  him  at  once.' 

'  Ha — ha — ha  ! '  was  heard  again  afar. 

'  Did  they  fight  ?  '  said  Picotee. 

'Yes,  I  believe  they  did.  We  left  Nice  the  next 
day  ;  but  I  heard  some  time  after  of  a  duel  not  many 
miles  off,  and  although  I  could  not  get  hold  of  the 
names,  I  make  no  doubt  it  was  between  those  two 
gentlemen.  I  never  knew  which  of  them  fell ;  poor 
fellow,  whichever  it  was.' 

'  Ha — ha — ha — ha — ha — ha! '  came  from  the  dining- 
room. 

'Whatever  are  those  boozy  men  laughing  at,  I 
wonder  ?  '  said  Menlove.  '  They  are  always  so  noisy 
when  the  ladies  have  gone  upstairs.  Upon  my  soul, 
I'll  run  up  and  find  out.' 

'  No,  no,  don't,'  entreated  Picotee,  putting  her  hand 
on  her  entertainer's  arm.  'It  seems  wrong ;  it  is  no 
concern  of  ours.' 

'Wrong  be  hanged — anything  on  an  impulse,'  said 
Mrs.  Menlove,  skipping  across  the  room  and  out  of 
the  door,  which  stood  open,  as  did  others  in  the  house, 
the  evening  being  sultry  and  oppressive. 

Picotee  waited  in  her  seat  until  it  occurred  to  her 
that  she  could  escape  the  lady's-maid  by  going  off 
into  her  father's  pantry  in  her  absence.  But  before 
this  had  been  put  into  effect  Menlove  appeared  again. 

'  Such  fun  as  they  are  having  up  there,'  she  said. 
'  Somebody  asked  Tvlr.  Neigh  to  tell  a  story  which  he 

245 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

had  told  at  some  previous  time,  but  he  was  very 
reluctant  to  do  so,  and  pretended  he  could  not  recollect 
it.  Well,  then,  the  other  man — I  could  not  distinguish 
him  by  his  voice — began  telling  it,  to  prompt  Mr. 
Neigh's  memory ;  and,  as  far  as  I  could  understand, 
it  was  about  some  lady  who  thought  Mr.  Neigh  was 
in  love  with  her,  and,  to  find  whether  he  was  worth 
accepting  or  not,  she  went  with  her  maid  at  night  to 
see  his  estate,  and  wandered  about  and  got  lost,  and 
was  frightened,  and  I  don't  know  what  besides.  Then 
Mr.  Neigrh  laughed  too,  and  said  he  liked  such  common 
sense  in  a  woman.  No  names  were  mentioned,  but  I 
fancy,  from  the  awkwardness  of  Mr.  Neigh  at  being 
compelled  to  tell  it,  that  the  lady  is  one  of  those  in 
the  drawing-room.  I  should  like  to  know  which  it 
v/as.' 

'  I  know — have  heard  something  about  it,'  said 
Picotee,  blushing  with  anger.  '  It  was  nothing  at  all 
like  that.  I  wonder  Mr.  Neigh  had  the  audacity 
ever  to  talk  of  the  matter,  and  to  misrepresent  it  so 
greatly ! ' 

'  Tell  all  about  it,  do,'  said  Menlove. 

'O  no,'  said  Picotee.  *I  promised  not  to  say  a 
word.' 

'  It  is  your  mistress,  I  expect.' 

'  You  may  think  what  you  like  ;  but  the  lady  is 
anything  but  a  mistress  of  mine.' 

The  flighty  Menlove  pressed  her  to  tell  the  whole 
story,  but  finding  this  useless  the  subject  was  changed. 
Presently  her  father  came  in,  and,  taking  no  notice  of 
Menlove,  told  his  daughter  that  she  had  been  called 
for.  Picotee  very  readily  put  on  her  things,  and  on 
going  outside  found  Joey  awaiting  her.  Mr.  Chickerel 
followed  closely,  with  sharp  glances  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye,  and  it  was  plain  from  Joey's  nervous  manner 
of  lingering  in  the  shadows  of  the  area  doorway  instead 
of  entering  the  house,  that  the  butler  had  in  some  way 
set  himself  to  prevent  all  communion  between  the  fair 
lady's-maid  and  his  son  for  that  evening  at  least. 

246 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

He  watched  Picotee  and  her  brother  off  the 
premises,  and  the  pair  went  on  their  way  towards 
Exonbury  Crescent,  very  few  words  passing  between 
them.  Picotee's  thoughts  had  turned  to  the  proposed 
visit  to  Knollsea,  and  Joey  was  sulky  under  disappoint- 
ment, and  the  blank  of  thwarted  purposes. 


ON  THE  HOUSETOP 
XXX 

'  PicoTEE,  are  you  asleep  ? '  Ethelberta  whispered  softly 
at  dawn  the  next  morning,  by  the  half-opened  door  of 
her  sister's  bedroom. 

*  No,  I  keep  waking,  it  is  so  warm.' 

*  So  do  I.  Suppose  we  get  up  and  see  the  sun  rise. 
The  east  is  filling  with  flame.' 

'Yes,  I  should  like  it,'  said  Picotee. 

The  restlessness  which  had  brought  Ethelberta 
hither  in  slippers  and  dressing-gown  at  such  an  early 
hour  owed  its  origin  to  another  cause  than  the  warmth 
of  the  weather ;  but  of  that  she  did  not  speak  as  yet. 
Picotee's  room  was  an  attic,  with  windows  in  the  roof 
— a  chamber  dismal  enough  at  all  times,  and  very 
shadowy  now.  While  Picotee  was  wrapping  up, 
Ethelberta  placed  a  chair  under  the  window,  and 
mounting  upon  this  they  stepped  outside,  and  seated 
themselves  within  the  parapet. 

The  air  was  as  clear  and  fresh  as  on  a  mountain 
side  ;  sparrows  chattered,  and  birds  of  a  species  unsus- 
pected at  later  hours  could  be  heard  singing  in  the 
park  hard  by,  while  here  and  there  on  ridges  and  flats 
a  cat  might  be  seen  going  calmly  home  from  the 
devilries  of  the  night  to  resume  the  amiabilities  of  the 
day. 

'  I  am  so  sorry  I  was  asleep  when  you  reached 
home,'  said  Picotee.  *  I  was  so  anxious  to  tell  you 
something  I  heard  of,  and  to  know  what  you  did  ;  but 

248 


A  COMEDY  L\  CHAPTERS 

my  eyes  would  shut,  try  as  I  might,  and  then  I  tried 
no  longer.      Did  you  see  me  at  all,  Berta  ? ' 

'  Never  once.  I  had  an  impression  that  you  were 
there.  I  fancied  you  were  from  father  s  carefully  vacu- 
ous look  whenever  I  glanced  at  his  face.  But  were 
you  careful  about  what  you  said,  and  did  you  see  Men- 
love  ?  I  felt  all  the  time  that  I  had  done  wrong  in 
letting  you  come  ;  the  gratification  to  you  was  not 
worth  the  risk  to  me.' 

'  I  saw^  her,  and  talked  to  her.  But  I  am  certain 
she  suspected  nothing.  I  enjoyed  myself  very  much, 
and  there  was  no  risk  at  all.' 

'  I  am  glad  it  is  no  worse  news.  However,  you 
must  not  go  there  again  :  upon  that  point  I  am  deter- 
mined.' 

'  It  was  a  good  thing  I  did  go,  all  the  same.  I'll 
tell  you  why  when  you  have  told  me  what  happened  to 

you-' 

*  Nothing  of  importance  happened  to  me. 

*  I  expect  you  got  to  know  the  lord  you  were  to 
meet  ? ' 

*0  yes — Lord  Mountclere.' 

'  And  it's  dreadful  how  fond  he  is  of  you — quite 
ridiculously  taken  up  with  you — I  saw  that  well  enough. 
Such  an  old  man,  too  ;  I  wouldn't  have  him  for  the 
world !  ' 

'  Don't  jump  at  conclusions  so  absurdly,  Picotee. 
Why  wouldn't  you  have  him  for  the  world  ? ' 

'  Because  he  is  old  enough  to  be  my  grandfather, 
and  yours  too.' 

*  Indeed  he  is  not ;  he  is  only  middle-aged.' 

*  O  Berta  !     Sixty-five  at  least.' 

*  He  may  or  may  not  be  that ;  and  if  he  is,  it  Is  not 
old.  He  is  so  entertaining  that  one  forgets  all  about 
age  in  connection  with  him.' 

'He  laughs  like  this — ''  Hee-hee-hee  !  "  '  Picotee 
introduced  as  much  antiquity  Into  her  face  as  she  could 
by  screwing  it  up  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

*  This  very  odd  thing  occurred,'  said  Ethelberta,  to 

249 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

get  Picotee  off  the  track  of  Lord  Mountclere's  peculi- 
arities, as  it  seemed.  *  I  was  saying  to  Mr.  Neigh 
that  we  were  going  to  Knollsea  for  a  time,  feeling  that 
he  would  not  be  likely  to  know  anything  about  such  an 
out-of-the-way  place,  when  Lord  Alountclere,  who  was 
near,  said,  **  I  shall  be  at  E  nek  worth  Court  in  a  few 
days,  probably  at  the  time  you  are  at  Knollsea.  The 
Imperial  Archaeological  Association  holds  its  meetings 
in  that  part  of  Wessex  this  season,  and  Corvsgate 
Castle,  near  Knollsea,  is  one  of  the  places  on  our  list." 
Then  he  hoped  I  should  be  able  to  attend.  Did  you 
ever  hear  anything  so  strange  ?  Now,  I  should  like  to 
attend  very  much,  not  on  Lord  Mountclere's  account, 
but  because  such  gatherings  are  interesting,  and  I  have 
never  been  to  one  ;  yet  there  is  this  to  be  considered, 
would  it  be  right  for  me  to  go  without  a  friend  to  such 
a  place  ?  Another  point  is,  that  we  shall  live  in 
menagerie  style  at  Knollsea  for  the  sake  of  the  children, 
and  we  must  do  it  economically  in  case  we  accept  Aunt 
Charlotte's  invitation  to  Rouen  ;  hence,  if  he  or  his 
friends  find  us  out  there  it  will  be  awkward  for  me. 
So  the  alternative  is  Knollsea  or  some  other  place  for 
us.' 

'  Let  it  be  Knollsea,  now  we  have  once  settled  It,' 
said  Picotee  anxiously.  *  I  have  mentioned  to  Faith 
Julian  that  we  shall  be  there.' 

*  Mentioned  it  already !  You  must  have  written 
Instantly.' 

'  I  had  a  few  minutes  to  spare,  and  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  write.' 

*  Very  well ;  we  will  stick  to  Knollsea,'  said  Ethel- 
berta,  half  in  doubt.  *  Yes — otherwise  it  will  be 
difficult  to  see  about  aunt's  baptismal  certificate.  We 
will  hope  nobody  will  take  the  trouble  to  pry  into  our 
household.  .  .  .  And  now,  Picotee,  I  want  to  ask  you 
something — something  very  serious.  How  would  you 
like  me  to  marry  Mr.  Neigh  ?' 

Ethelberta  could  not  help  laughing  with  a  faint 
shyness  as   she  asked  the  question  under  the  search- 

250 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

ing  east  ray.  '  He  has  asked  me  to  marry  him,'  she 
continued,  '  and  I  want  to  know  what  you  would  say  to 
such  an  arrangement.  I  don't  mean  to  imply  that  the 
event  is  certain  to  take  place  ;  but,  as  a  mere  sup- 
position, what  do  you  say  to  it,  Picotee?'  Ethelberta 
was  far  from  putting  this  matter  before  Picotee  for 
advice  or  opinion  ;  but,  like  all  people  who  have  an 
innate  dislike  to  hole-and-corner  policy,  she  felt  com- 
pelled to  speak  of  it  to  some  one. 

'  I  should  not  like  him  for  you  at  all,'  said  Picotee 
vehemendy.      '  I  would  rather  you  had  Mr.  LadywelL' 

*  O,  don't  name  him  ! ' 

*  I  wouldn't  have  Mr.  Neigh  at  any  price,  neverthe- 
less. It  is  about  him  that  I  was  going  to  tell  you.* 
Picotee  proceeded  to  relate  Menlove's  account  of  the 
story  of  Ethelberta's  escapade,  which  had  been  dragged 
from  Neigh  the  previous  evening  by  the  friend  to  whom 
he  had  related  it  before  he  was  so  enamoured  of  Ethel- 
berta as  to  regard  that  performance  as  a  positive  virtue 
in  her.  '  Nobody  was  told,  or  even  suspected,  who  the 
lady  of  the  anecdote  was,'  Picotee  concluded;  'but  I 
knew  Instandy,  of  course,  and  I  think  it  very  unfortu- 
nate that  we  ever  went  to  that  dreadful  ghostly  estate 
of  his,  Berta.' 

Ethelberta's  face  heated  with  mortification.  She 
had  no  fear  that  Neigh  had  told  names  or  other 
particulars  which  might  lead  to  her  identification  by 
any  friend  of  his,  and  she  could  make  allowance  for 
bursts  of  confidence  ;  but  there  remained  the  awkward 
fiict  that  he  himself  knew  her  to  be  the  heroine  of  the 
episode.  What  annoyed  her  most  was  that  Neigh 
could  ever  have  looked  upon  her  indiscretion  as  a 
humorous  incident,  which  he  certainly  must  have 
done  at  some  time  or  other  to  account  for  his  telling  it. 
Had  he  been  angry  with  her,  or  sneered  at  her  for 
going,  she  could  have  forgiven  him  ;  but  to  see  her 
manoeuvre  in  the  light  of  a  joke,  to  use  it  as  illustrating 
his  grim  theory  of  womankind,  and  neither  to  like  nor 
to  dislike  her  the  more  for  it  from  first  to  last,  this  was 

251 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

to  treat  her  with  a  cynicism  which  was  intolerable. 
That  Neigh's  use  of  the  incident  as  a  stock  anecdote 
ceased  long  before  he  had  decided  to  ask  her  to  marry 
him  she  had  no  doubt,  but  it  showed  that  his  love  for 
her  was  of  that  sort  in  which  passion  makes  war  upon 
judgment,  and  prevails  in  spite  of  will.  Moreover,  he 
might  have  been  speaking  ironically  when  he  alluded 
to  the  act  as  a  virtue  in  a  woman,  which  seemed  the 
more  likely  when  she  remembered  his  cool  bearing 
towards  her  in  the  drawing-room.  Possibly  it  was  an 
antipathetic  reaction,  induced  by  the  renewed  recollec- 
tion of  her  proceeding. 

*  I  will  never  marry  Mr.  Neigh ! '  she  said,  with 
decision.  *  That  shall  settle  it.  You  need  not  think 
over  any  such  contingency,  Picotee.  He  is  one  of 
those  horrid  men  who  love  with  their  eyes,  the  re- 
mainder part  of  him  objecting  all  the  time  to  the 
feeling ;  and  even  if  his  objections  prove  the  weaker, 
and  the  man  marries,  his  general  nature  conquers  again 
by  the  time  the  wedding  trip  is  over,  so  that  the 
woman  is  miserable  at  last,  and  had  better  not  have 
had  him  at  all.* 

'  That  applies  still  more  to  Lord  Mountclere,  to  my 
thinking.  I  never  saw  anything  like  the  look  of  his 
eyes  upon  you.* 

*  O  no,  no — you  understand  nothing  if  you  say  that. 
But  one  thing  be  sure  of,  there  is  no  marriage  likely 
to  take  place  between  myself  and  Mr.  Neigh.  I  have 
longed  for  a  sound  reason  for  disliking  him,  and  now  I 
have  got  it.  Well,  we  will  talk  no  more  of  this — let 
us  think  of  the  nice  little  pleasure  we  have  in  store — 
our  stay  at  Knollsea.  There  we  will  be  as  free  as  the 
wind.  And  when  we  are  down  there,  I  can  drive 
across  to  Corvsgate  Castle  if  I  wish  to  attend  the 
Imperial  Association  meeting,  and  nobody  will  know 
where  I  came  from.  Knollsea  is  not  more  than  five 
miles  from  the  Castle,  I  think.' 

Picotee  was  by  this  time  beginning  to  yawn,  and 
Ethel berta  did  not  feel  nearly  so  wakeful  as  she  had 

252 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

felt  half  an  hour  earlier.  Tall  and  swarthy  columns  of 
smoke  were  now  soaring  up  from  the  kitchen  chimneys 
around,  spreading  horl-zontally  when  at  a  great  height, 
and  forming  a  roof  of  haze  which  was  turning  the  sun 
to  a  copper  colour,  and  by  degrees  spoiling  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  new  atmosphere  that  had  rolled  In  from  the 
country  during  the  night,  giving  It  the  usual  city  smell. 
The  resolve  to  make  this  rising  the  beginning  of  a  long 
and  busy  day,  which  should  set  them  beforehand  with 
the  rest  of  the  world,  weakened  with  their  growing 
weariness,  and  an  impulse  to  lie  down  just  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  dressing,  ended  in  a  sound 
sleep  that  did  not  relinquish  its  hold  upon  them  till 
late  in  the  forenoon. 


KNOLLSEA 
A   LOFTY  DOWN 

A   RUINED    CASTLE 

XXXI 

Knollsea  was  a  seaside  village  lying  snug  within 
two  headlands  as  between  a  finger  and  thumb.  Every- 
body in  the  parish  who  was  not  a  boatman  was  a 
quarrier,  unless  he  were  the  gentleman  who  owned  half 
the  property  and  had  been  a  quarryman,  or  the  other 
gentleman  who  owned  the  other  half,  and  had  been 
to  sea. 

The  knowledge  of  the  Inhabitants  w^as  of  the  same 
special  sort  as  their  pursuits.  The  quarrymen  In  white 
fustian  understood  practical  geology,  the  laws  and 
accidents  of  dips,  faults,  and  cleavage,  far  better  than  the 
ways  of  the  world  and  mammon  ;  the  seafaring  men  in 
Guernsey  frocks  had  a  clearer  notion  of  Alexandria, 
Constantinople,  the  Cape,  and  the  Indies  than  of  any 
inland  town  in  their  own  country.  This,  for  them, 
consisted  of  a  busy  portion,  the  Channel,  where  they 
lived  and  laboured,  and  a  dull  portion,  the  vague  un- 
explored miles  of  interior  at  the  back  of  the  ports, 
which  they  seldom  thought  of. 

Some  wives  of  the  village,  it  is  true,  had  learned  to 
let  lodgings,  and  others  to  keep  shops.  The  doors  of 
these  latter  places  were  formed  of  an  upper  hatch, 
usually  kept  open,  and  a  lower  hatch,  with  a  bell 
attached,    usually    kept    shut.      Whenever  a  stranger 

254 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

went  In,  he  would  hear  a  whispering  of  astonishment 
from  a  back  room,  after  which  a  woman  came  forward, 
looking  suspiciously  at  him  as  an  intruder,  and 
advancing  slowly  enough  to  allow  her  mouth  to  o-et 
clear  of  the  meal  she  was  partaking  of.  Meanwhile 
the  people  in  the  back  room  would  stop  their  knives 
and  forks  in  absorbed  curiosity  as  to  the  reason  of  the 
stranger's  entry,  who  by  this  time  feels  ashamed  of  his 
unwarrantable  intrusion  into  this  hermit's  cell,  and 
thinks  he  must  take  his  hat  off.  The  woman  is  quite 
alarmed  at  seeing  that  he  is  not  one  of  the  fifteen  native 
women  and  children  who  patronize  her,  and  neivously 
puts  her  hand  to  the  side  of  her  face,  which  she  carries 
slanting.  The  visitor  finds  himself  saying  what  he 
wants  in  an  apologetic  tone,  when  the  woman  tells  him 
that  they  did  keep  that  article  once,  but  do  not  now  ; 
that  nobody  does,  and  probably  never  will  again  ;  and 
as  he  turns  away  she  looks  relieved  that  the  dilemma 
of  having  to  provide  for  a  stranger  has  passed  off  with 
no  worse  mishap  than  disappointing  him. 

A  cottage  which  stood  on  a  high  slope  above  this 
townlet  and  its  bay  resounded  one  morning  with  the 
notes  of  a  merry  company.  Ethelberta  had  managed 
to  find  room  for  herself  and  her  young  relations  in 
the  house  of  one  of  the  boatmen,  whose  wife  attended 
upon  them  all.  Captain  Flower,  the  husband,  assisted 
her  in  the  dinner  preparations,  when  he  slipped  about 
the  house  as  lightly  as  a  girl  and  spoke  of  himself  as 
cook's  mate.  The  house  was  so  small  that  the  sailor's 
rich  voice,  developed  by  shouting  in  high  winds  during 
a  twenty  years'  experience  in  the  coasting  trade,  could 
be  heard  coming  from  the  kitchen  between  the  chirpino-s 
of  the  children  in  the  parlour.  The  furniture  of  this 
apartment  consisted  mostly  of  the  painting  of  a  full- 
rigged  ship,  done  by  a  man  whom  the  captain  had 
specially  selected  for  the  purpose  because  he  had  been 
seven -and -twenty  years  at  sea  before  touching  a 
brush,  and  thereby  offered  a  sufficient  guarantee  thai: 
he  understood  how  to  paint  a  vessel  properly. 

255 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Before  this  picture  sat  Ethelberta  in  a  light 
h'nen  dress,  and  with  tightly-knotted  hair — now  again 
Berta  Chickerel  as  of  old — serving  out  breakfast  to 
the  rest  of  the  party,  and  sometimes  lifting  her  eyes 
to  the  outlook  from  the  window,  which  presented  a 
happy  combination  of  grange  scenery  with  marine. 
Upon  the  irregular  slope  between  the  house  and  the 
quay  was  an  orchard  of  aged  trees  wherein  every 
apple  ripening  on  the  boughs  presented  its  rubicund 
side  towards  the  cottage,  because  that  building  chanced 
to  lie  upwards  in  the  same  direction  as  the  sun.  Under 
the  trees  were  a  few  Cape  sheep,  and  over  them  the 
stone  chimneys  of  the  village  below  :  outside  these  lay 
the  tanned  sails  of  a  ketch  or  smack,  and  the  violet 
waters  of  the  bay,  seamed  and  creased  by  breezes 
insufficient  to  raise  waves  ;  beyond  all  a  curved  wall 
of  cliff,  terminating  in  a  promontory,  which  was  flanked 
by  tall  and  shining  obelisks  of  chalk  rising  sheer  from 
the  trembling  blue  race  beneath. 

By  anyone  sitting  in  the  room  that  commanded 
this  prospect  a  white  butterfly  among  the  apple-trees 
might  be  mistaken  for  the  sails  of  a  yacht  far 
away  on  the  sea ;  and  in  the  evening  when  the 
light  was  dim,  what  seemed  like  a  fly  crawling  upon 
the  window-pane  would  turn  out  to  be  a  boat  in  the 
bay. 

When  breakfast  was  over  Ethelberta  sat  leaning 
on  the  window-sill  considering  her  movements  for 
the  day.  It  was  the  time  fixed  for  the  meeting  of 
the  Imperial  Association  at  Corvsgate  Castle,  the 
celebrated  ruin  five  miles  off,  and  the  meetino-  had 
some  fascinations  for  her.  For  one  thing,  she  had 
never  been  present  at  a  gathering  of  the  kind, 
although  what  was  left  in  any  shape  from  the  past 
was  her  constant  interest,  because  it  recalled  her  to 
herself  and  fortified  her  mind.  Persons  waging  a 
harassing  social  fight  are  apt  in  the  interest  of  the 
combat  to  forget  the  smallness  of  the  end  in  view  ; 
and    the    hints    that    perishing    historical     remnants 

256 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

afforded  her  of  the  attenuating  effects  of  time  even 
upon  great  struggles  corrected  the  apparent  scale  of 
her  own.  She  was  reminded  that  In  a  strife  for  such 
a  ludicrously  small  object  as  the  entry  of  drawing- 
rooms,  winning,  equally  with  losing,  is  below  the  zero 
of  the  true  philosopher's  concern. 

There  could  never  be  a  more  excellent  reason  than 
this  for  going  to  view  the  meagre  stumps  remaining 
from  flourishing  bygone  centuries,  and  It  had  weight 
with  Ethelberta  this  very  day ;  but  it  would  be 
difficult  to  state  the  whole  composition  of  her  motive. 
The  approaching  meeting  had  been  one  of  the  great 
themes  at  Mr.  Doncastle's  dinner-party,  and  Lord 
Mountclere,  on  learning  that  she  was  to  be  at  Knoll- 
sea,  had  recommended  her  attendance  at  some,  if 
not  all  of  the  meetings,  as  a  desirable  and  exhilarat- 
ing change  after  her  laborious  season's  work  in  town. 
It  was  pleasant  to  have  won  her  way  so  far  in  high 
places  that  her  health  of  body  and  mind  should  be 
thus  considered — pleasant,  less  as  personal  gratifica- 
tion, than  that  it  casually  reflected  a  proof  of  her 
good  judgment  in  a  course  which  everybody  among 
her  kindred  had  condemned  by  calling  a  foolhardy 
undertaking. 

And  she  might  go  without  the  restraint  of  ceremony. 
Unconventlonality — almost  eccentricity— was  c/e  rigueur 
for  one  who  had  been  first  heard  of  as  a  poetess ; 
from  whose  red  lips  magic  romance  had  since  trilled 
for  weeks  to  crowds  of  listeners,  as  from  a  perennial 
spring. 

So  Ethelberta  went,  after  a  considerable  ponder- 
ing how  to  get  there  without  the  needless  sacrifice 
either  of  dignity  or  cash.  It  would  be  Inconsiderate 
to  the  children  to  spend  a  pound  on  a  brougham  when 
as  much  as  she  could  spare  was  w^anted  for  their 
holiday.  It  was  almost  too  far  to  walk.  She  had, 
however,  decided  to  walk,  when  she  met  a  boy  with 
a  donkey,  who  offered  to  lend  it  to  her  for  three 
shillings.      The  animal   was  rather   sad -looking,   but 

257 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Ethelberta  found  she  could  sit  upon  the  pad  without 
discomfort.  Considering  that  she  might  pull  up  some 
distance  short  of  the  castle,  and  leave  the  ass  at  a 
cottage  before  joining  her  four-wheeled  friends,  she 
struck  the  bargain  and  rode  on  her  way. 

This  was,  first  by  a  path  on  the  shore  where  the 
tide  dragged  huskily  up  and  down  the  shingle  without 
disturbing  it,  and  thence  up  the  steep  crest  of  land 
opposite,  whereon  she  lingered  awhile  to  let  the  ass 
breathe.  On  one  of  the  spires  ot  chalk  into  which 
the  hill  here  had  been  split  was  perched  a  cormorant, 
silent  and  motionless,  with  wings  spread  out  to  dry 
in  the  sun  after  his  morning's  fishing,  their  white 
surface  shining  like  mail.  Retiring  without  disturbing 
him  and  turning  to  the  left  along  the  lofty  ridge  which 
ran  inland,  the  country  on  each  side  lay  beneath  her 
like  a  map,  domains  behind  domains,  parishes  by 
the  score,  harbours,  fir-woods,  and  little  inland  seas 
mixing  curiously  together.  Thence  she  ambled  along 
through  a  huge  cemetery  of  barrows,  containing 
human  dust  from  prehistoric  times. 

Standing  on  the  top  of  a  giant's  grave  in  this 
antique  land,  Ethelberta  lifted  her  eyes  to  behold 
two  sorts  of  weather  pervading  Nature  at  the  same 
time.  Far  below  on  the  right  hand  it  was  a  fine  day, 
and  the  silver  sunbeams  lighted  up  a  many-armed 
inland  sea  which  stretched  round  an  island  with  fir- 
trees  and  gorse,  and  amid  brilliant  crimson  heaths 
wherein  white  paths  and  roads  occasionally  met  the 
eye  in  dashes  and  zig-zags  like  flashes  of  lightning. 
Outside,  where  the  broad  Channel  appeared,  a  beryl- 
line  and  opalized  variegation  of  ripples,  currents, 
deeps,  and  shallows,  lay  as  fair  under  the  sun  as  a 
New  Jerusalem,  the  shores  being  of  gleaming  sand. 
Upon  the  radiant  heather  bees  and  butterflies  were 
busy,  she  knew,  and  the  birds  on  that  side  were  just 
beginning  their  autumn  songs. 

On  the  left,  quite  up  to  her  position,  was  dark 
and  cloudy  weather,  shading  a  valley  of  heavy  greens 

258 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

and  browns,  which  at  its  further  side  rose  to  meet  the 
sea  in  tall  cliffs,  suggesting  even  here  at  their  back 
how  terrible  were  their  aspects  seaward  in  a  growling 
south-west  gale.  Here  grassed  hills  rose  like  knuckles 
gloved  in  dark  olive,  and  little  plantations  between 
them  formed  a  still  deeper  and  sadder  monochrome. 
A  zinc  sky  met  a  leaden  sea  on  this  hand,  the  low 
wind  groaned  and  whined,  and  not  a  bird  sang. 

The  ridge  along  which  Ethelberta  rode — Nine- 
Barrow  Down  by  name — divided  these  two  climates 
like  a  wall ;  it  soon  became  apparent  that  they  were 
wrestling  for  mastery  immediately  in  her  pathway. 
The  issue  long  remained  doubtful,  and  this  being  an 
imaginative  iiour  with  her,  she  watched  as  typical 
of  her  own  fortunes  how  the  front  of  battle  swayed 
— now  to  the  west,  flooding  her  with  sun,  now  to 
the  east,  covering  her  with  shade :  then  the  wind 
moved  round  to  the  north,  a  blue  hole  appeared  in  the 
overhanging  cloud,  at  about  the  place  of  the  north 
star ;  and  the  sunlight  spread  on  both  sides  of  her. 

The  towers  of  the  notable  ruin  to  be  visited  rose 
out  of  the  furthermost  shoulder  of  the  upland  as  she 
advanced,  its  site  being  the  slope  and  crest  of  a 
smoothly  nibbled  mount  at  the  toe  of  the  ridge  she 
had  followed.  When  observing  the  previous  un- 
certainty of  the  weather  on  this  side  Ethelberta  had 
been  led  to  doubt  if  the  meeting  would  he  held  here 
to-day,  and  she  was  now  strengthened  in  her  opinion 
that  it  would  not  by  the  total  absence  '  of  human 
figures  amid  the  ruins,  though  the  time  of  appoint- 
ment was  past.  This  disposed  of  another  question 
which  had  perplexed  her :  where  to  find  a  stable 
for  the  ass  during  the  meeting,  for  she  had  scarcely 
liked  the  idea  of  facing  the  whole  body  of  lords  and 
gentlemen  upon  the  animal's  back.  She  now  decided 
to  retain  her  seat,  ride  round  the  ruin,  and  go  home 
again,  without  troubling  further  about  the  movements 
of  the  Association  or  acquaintance  with  the  members 
composing  it. 

259 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Accordingly  Ethelberta  crossed  the  bridge  over  the 
moat,  and  rode  under  the  first  archway  into  the  outer 
ward.  As  she  had  expected,  not  a  soul  was  here. 
The  arrow-slits,  portcullis-grooves,  and  staircases  met 
her  eye  as  familiar  friends,  for  in  her  childhood  she  had 
once  paid  a  visit  to  the  spot.  Ascending  the  green 
incline  and  through  another  arch  into  the  second  ward, 
she  still  pressed  on,  till  at  last  the  ass  was  unable  to 
clamber  an  inch  further.  Here  she  dismounted,  and 
tying  him  to  a  stone  which  projected  like  a  fang  from 
a  raw  edge  of  w^all,  performed  the  remainder  of  the 
ascent  on  foot.  Once  among  the  towers  above,  she 
became  so  interested  In  the  windy  corridors,  mildewed 
dungeons,  and  the  tribe  of  daws  peering  invidiously 
upon  her  from  overhead,  that  she  forgot  the  flight  of 
time. 

Nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour  passed  before  she 
came  out  from  the  Immense  walls,  and  looked  from  an 
opening  to  the  front  over  the  wide  expanse  of  the 
outer  w..rd,  by  which  she  had  ascended. 

Ethelberta  was  taken  aback  to  see  there  a  file 
of  shining  carriages,  which  had  arrived  during  her 
seclusion  in  the  keep.  From  these  began  to  burst  a 
miscellany  of  many-coloured  draperies,  blue,  buff,  pied, 
and  black ;  they  united  into  one,  and  crept  up  the 
incline  like  a  cloud,  which  then  parted  into  fragments, 
dived  into  old  doorways,  and  lost  substance  behind 
projecting  piles.  Recognizing  in  this  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  the  meeting,  her  first  thought  was  how 
to  escape,  for  she  was  suddenly  overcome  with  dread 
to  meet  them  all  slngrle-handed  as  she  stood.  She 
drew  back  and  hurried  round  to  the  side,  as  the 
laughter  and  voices  of  the  assembly  began  to  be 
audible,  and,  more  than  ever  vexed  that  she  could  not 
have  fallen  in  with  them  in  some  unobtrusive  way, 
Ethelberta  found  that  they  were  Immediately  beneath 
her. 

Venturing  to  peep  forward  again,  what  was  her 
mortification  at  finding  them  gathered  in  a  ring,  round 

260 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

no  object  of  interest  belonging  to  the  ruin,  but  round 
her  faithful  beast,  who  had  loosened  himself  in  some 
way  from  the  stone,  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  plat 
of  grass,  placidly  regarding  them. 

Being  now  in  the  teeth  of  the  Association,  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  on,  since,  if  she  did  not, 
the  next  few  steps  of  their  advance  would  disclose  her. 
She  made  the  best  of  it,  and  began  to  descend  in  the 
broad  view  of  the  assembly,  from  the  midst  of  which 
proceeded  a  laugh — '  Hee-hee-hee  ! '  Ethelberta  knew 
that  Lord  Mountclere  was  there. 

*  The  poor  thing  has  strayed  from  its  owner, '  said 
one  lady,  as  they  all  stood  eyeing  the  apparition  of 
the  ass. 

'  It  may  belong  to  some  of  the  villagers,'  said  the 
President  in  a  historical  voice  :  *  and  it  may  be  appro- 
priate to  mention  that  many  were  kept  here  in  olden 
times  :  they  were  largely  used  as  beasts  of  burden  in 
victualling  the  castle  previous  to  the  last  siege,  in  the 
year  sixteen  hundred  and  forty-five.' 

*  It  is  very  weary,  and  has  come  a  long  way,  I 
think,'  said  a  lady  ;  adding,  in  an  imaginative  tone, 
*  the  humble  creature  looks  so  aged  and  is  so  quaintly 
saddled  that  we  may  suppose  it  to  be  only  an  animated 
relic,  of  the  same  date  as  the  other  remains.' 

By  this  time  Lord  Mountclere  had  noticed  Ethel- 
berta's  presence,  and  straightening  himself  to  ten  years 
younger  he  lifted  his  hat  in  answer  to  her  smile,  and 
came  up  jauntily.  It  was  a  good  time  now  to  see 
what  the  viscount  was  really  like.  He  appeared  to  be 
about  sixty-five,  and  the  dignified  aspect  which  he 
wore  to  a  gazer  at  a  distance  became  depreciated  to 
jocund  slyness  upon  nearer  view,  when  the  small  type 
could  be  read  between  the  leading  lines.  Then  it 
could  be  seen  that  his  upper  lip  dropped  to  a  point  in 
the  middle,  as  if  impressing  silence  upon  his  too 
demonstrative  lower  one.  His  right  and  left  profiles 
were  different,  one  corner  of  his  mouth  being  more 
compressed    than    the    other,   producing   a   deep   line 

261 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

thence  downwards  to  the  side  of  his  chin.  Each  eye- 
brow rose  obliquely  outwards  and  upwards,  and  was 
thus  far  above  the  little  eye,  shining  with  the  clear- 
ness of  a  pond  that  has  just  been  able  to  weather  the 
heats  of  summer.  Below  this  was  a  preternaturally 
fat  jowl,  which,  by  thrusting  against  cheeks  and  chin, 
caused  the  arch  old  mouth  to  be  almost  buried  at  the 
corners. 

A  few  words  of  greeting  passed,  and  Ethelberta 
told  him  how  she  was  fearing  to  meet  them  all,  united 
and  primed  with  their  morning's  knowledge  as  they 
appeared  to  be. 

'Well,  we  have  not  done  much  yet,'  said  Lord 
Mountclere.  *  As  for  myself,  I  have  given  no  thought 
at  all  to  our  day's  work.  I  had  not  forgotten  your 
promise  to  attend,  if  you  could  possibly  drive  across, 
and — hee-hee-hee  ! — I  have  frequendy  looked  towards 
the  hill  where  the  road  descends.  .  .  .  Will  you  now 
permit  me  to  introduce  some  of  my  party — as  many  of 
them  as  you  care  to  know  by  name  ?  I  think  they 
would  all  like  to  speak  to  you.' 

Ethelberta  then  found  herself  nominally  made 
known  to  ten  or  a  dozen  ladies  and  gendemen  who 
had  wished  for  special  acquaintance  with  her.  She 
stood  there,  as  all  women  stand  who  have  made  them- 
selves remarkable  by  their  originality,  or  devotion  to 
any  singular  cause,  as  a  person  freed  of  her  hampering 
and  inconvenient  sex,  and,  by  virtue  of  her  popularity, 
unfettered  from  the  conventionalities  of  manner  pre- 
scribed by  custom  for  household  womankind.  The 
charter  to  move  abroad  unchaperoned,  which  society 
for  good  reasons  grants  only  to  women  of  three  sorts 
— the  famous,  the  ministering,  and  the  improper — 
Ethelberta  was  in  a  fair  way  to  make  splendid  use  of: 
instead  of  walking  in  protected  lanes  she  experienced 
that  luxury  of  isolation  which  normally  is  enjoyed  by 
men  alone,  in  conjunction  with  the  attention  naturally 
bestowed  on  a  woman  young  and  fair.  Among  the 
presentations  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tynn,  member  and 

262 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

member's  mainspring  for  North  Wessex ;  Sir  Cyril 
and  Lady  Blandsbury ;  Lady  Jane  Joy;  and  the 
Honourable  Edgar  Mountclere,  the  viscount's  brother. 
There  also  hovered  near  her  the  learned  Doctor  Yore  ; 
Mr.  Small,  a  profound  writer,  who  never  printed  his 
works ;  the  Reverend  Mr.  Brook,  rector ;  the  Very 
Reverend  Dr.  Taylor,  dean ;  and  the  moderately 
Reverend  Mr.  Tinkleton,  Nonconformist,  who  had 
slipped  into  the  fold  by  chance. 

These  and  others  looked  with  interest  at  Ethel- 
berta  ;  the  old  county  fathers  hard,  as  at  a  question- 
able town  phenomenon,  the  county  sons  tenderly,  as 
at  a  pretty  creature,  and  the  county  daughters  with 
great  admiration,  as  at  a  lady  reported  by  their 
mammas  to  be  no  better  than  she  should  be.  It  will 
be  seen  that  Ethelberta  was  the  sort  of  woman  that 
well-rooted  local  people  might  like  to  look  at  on  such 
a  free  and  friendly  occasion  as  an  archaeological 
meeting,  where,  to  gratify  a  pleasant  whim,  the 
picturesque  form  of  acquaintance  is  for  the  nonce 
preferred  to  the  useful,  the  spirits  being  so  brisk  as  to 
swerve  from  strict  attention  to  the  select  and  sequent 
gifts  of  heaven,  blood  and  acres,  to  consider  for  an 
idle  moment  the  subversive  Mephistophelian  endow- 
ment, brains. 

'  Our  progress  in  the  survey  of  the  casde  has  not 
been  far  as  yet,'  Lord  Mountclere  resumed;  'indeed, 
we  have  only  just  arrived,  the  weather  this  morning 
being  so  unsetded.  When  you  came  up  we  were 
engaged  in  a  preliminary  study  of  the  poor  animal 
you  see  there  :  how  it  could  have  got  up  here  we 
cannot  understand.' 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  the  donkey  which  had 
brought  Ethelberta  thither,  whereupon  she  was  silent, 
and  gazed  at  her  untoward  beast  as  if  she  had  never 
before  beheld  him. 

The  ass  looked  at  Ethelberta  as  though  he  would 
say,  'Why  don't  you  own  me,  after  safely  bringing 
you   over   those    weary   hills  ? '      But   the   pride   and 

263 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

emulation  which  had  made  her  what  she  would  not 
permit  her,  as  the  most  lovely  woman  there,  to  take 
upon  her  own  shoulders  the  ridicule  that  had  already 
been  cast  upon  the  ass.  Had  he  been  young  and  gaily 
caparisoned,  she  might  have  done  it ;  but  his  age,  the 
clumsy  trappings  of  rustic  make,  and  his  needy  woful 
look  of  hard  servitude,  were  too  much  to  endure. 

*  Many  come  and  picnic  here,'  she  said  serenely, 
*and  the  animal  may  have  been  left  till  they  return 
from  some  walk.' 

'True,'  said  Lord  Mountclere,  without  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  the  truth.  The  humble  ass  hung  his  head 
in  his  usual  manner,  and  it  demanded  little  fancy  from 
Ethelberta  to  imagine  that  he  despised  her.  And 
then  her  mind  flew  back  to  her  history  and  extraction, 
to  her  father — perhaps  at  that  moment  inventing  a 
private  plate-powder  in  an  underground  pantry — 
and  with  a  groan  at  her  inconsistency  in  being  ashamed 
of  the  ass,  she  said  in  her  heart,  *  My  God,  what  a 
thing  am  I  ! ' 

They  then  all  moved  on  to  another  part  of  the 
castle,  the  viscount  busying  himself  round  and  round 
her  person  like  the  head  scraper  at  a  pig-killing ;  and 
as  they  went  indiscriminately  mingled,  jesting  lightly 
or  talking  in  earnest,  she  beheld  ahead  of  her  the 
form  of  Neiorh  amonor  the  rest. 

o  o 

Now,  there  could  only  be  one  reason  on  earth  for 
Neigh's  presence — her  remark  that  she  might  attend 
— for  Neigh  took  no  more  interest  in  antiquities  than 
in  the  back  of  the  moon.  Ethelberta  was  a  little 
flurried  ;  perhaps  he  had  come  to  scold  her,  or  to  treat 
her  badly  in  that  indefinable  way  of  his  by  which  he 
could  make  a  woman  feel  as  nothing  without  any  direct 
act  at  all.  She  was  afraid  of  him,  and,  determining  to 
shun  him,  was  thankful  that  Lord  Mountclere  was 
near,  to  take  off  the  edge  of  Neigh's  manner  towards 
her  if  he  approached. 

'  Do  you  know  in  what  part  of  the  ruins  the  lecture 
is  to  be  given  ? '  she  said  to  the  viscount. 

26a 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  Wherever  you  like,'  he  replied  gallantly.  *  Do 
you  propose  a  place,  and  I  will  get  Dr.  Yore  to 
adopt  it.  Say,  shall  it  be  here,  or  where  they 
are  standing  ?  * 

How  could  Ethelberta  refrain  from  exercising  a 
little  power  when  it  was  put  into  her  hands  in  this 
way? 

'  Let  it  be  here,'  she  said,  '  if  it  makes  no  difference 
to  the  meeting.' 

'  It  shall  be,'  said  Lord  Mountclere. 

And  then  the  lively  old  nobleman  skipped  like  a 
roe  to  the  President  and  to  Dr.  Yore,  who  was  to  read 
the  paper  on  the  castle,  and  they  soon  appeared 
coming  back  to  where  the  viscount's  party  and 
Ethelberta  were  beginning  to  seat  themselves.  The 
bulk  of  the  company  followed,  and  Dr.  Yore  began. 

He  must  have  had  a  countenance  of  leather — as, 
indeed,  from  his  colour  he  appeared  to  have — to  stand 
unmoved  in  his  position,  and  read,  and  look  up  to 
give  explanations,  without  a  change  of  muscle,  under 
the  dozens  of  bright  eyes  that  were  there  converged 
upon  him,  like  the  sticks  of  a  fan,  from  the  ladies  who 
sat  round  him  in  a  semicircle  upon  the  grass.  How- 
ever, he  went  on  calmly,  and  the  women  sheltered 
themselves  from  the  heat  with  their  umbrellas  and 
sunshades,  their  ears  lulled  by  the  hum  of  insects,  and 
by  the  drone  of  the  doctor's  voice.  The  reader 
buzzed  on  with  the  history  of  the  castle,  tracing  its 
development  from  a  mound  with  a  few  earthworks  to 
its  condition  in  Norman  times ;  he  related  monkish 
marvels  connected  with  the  spot ;  its  resistance  under 
Matilda  to  Stephen,  its  probable  shape  while  a 
residence  of  King  John,  and  the  sad  story  of  the 
Damsel  of  Brittany,  sister  of  his  victim  Arthur,  who 
was  confined  here  in  company  with  the  two  daughters 
of  Alexander,  king  of  Scodand.  He  went  on  to 
recount  the  confinement  of  Edward  H.  herein,  pre- 
vious to  his  murder  at  Berkeley,  the  gay  doings  in 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  so  downward  through  time 

265 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

to  the  final  overthrow  of  the  stern  old  pile.  As  he 
proceeded,  the  lecturer  pointed  with  his  finger  at  the 
various  features  appertaining  to  the  date  of  his  story, 
which  he  told  with  splendid  vigour  when  he  had 
warmed  to  his  work,  till  his  narrative,  particularly  in 
the  conjectural  and  romantic  parts,  where  it  became 
coloured  rather  by  the  speaker's  imagination  than  by 
the  pigments  of  history,  gathered  together  the  wander- 
ing thoughts  of  all.  It  was  easy  for  him  then  to  meet 
those  fair  concentred  eyes,  when  the  sunshades  were 
thrown  back,  and  complexions  forgotten,  in  the  interest 
of  the  history.  The  doctor's  face  was  then  no  longer 
criticized  as  a  rugged  boulder,  a  dried  fig,  an  oak 
carving,  or  a  walnut  shell,  but  became  blotted  out  like 
a  mountain  top  in  a  shining  haze  by  the  nebulous 
pictures  conjured  by  his  tale. 

Then  the  lecture  ended,  and  questions  were  asked, 
and  individuals  of  the  company  wandered  at  will,  the 
light  dresses  of  the  ladies  sweeping  over  the  hot  grass 
and  brushing  up  thistledown  which  had  hitherto  lain 
quiescent,  so  that  it  rose  in  a  flight  from  the  skirts  of 
each  like  a  comet's  tail. 

Some  of  Lord  Mountclere's  party,  including  him- 
self and  Ethelberta,  wandered  now  into  a  cool 
dungeon,  partly  open  to  the  air  overhead,  where  long 
arms  of  ivy  hung  between  their  eyes  and  the  white 
sky.  While  they  were  here,  Lady  Jane  Joy  and  some 
other  friends  of  the  viscount  told  Ethelberta  that  they 
were  probably  coming  on  to  Knollsea. 

She  instantly  perceived  that  getting  into  close 
quarters  in  that  way  might  be  very  inconvenient, 
considering  the  youngsters  she  had  under  her  charge, 
and  straightway  decided  upon  a  point  that  she  had 
debated  for  several  days — a  visit  to  her  aunt  in 
Normandy.  In  London  it  had  been  a  mere  thought, 
but  the  Channel  had  looked  so  tempting  from  its 
brink  that  the  journey  was  virtually  fixed  as  soon  as 
she  reached  Knollsea,  and  found  that  a  little  pleasure 
steamer  crossed  to  Cherbourg  once  a  week  during  the 

266 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

summer,  so  that   she  would    not   have   to   enter  the 
crowded  routes  at  all. 

*  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  see  you  in  Knollsea,'  she 
said.  '  I  am  about  to  go  to  Cherbourg  and  then  to 
Rouen.' 

'  How  sorry  I  am.     When  do  you  leave? ' 

'At  the  beginning  of  next  week,'  said  Ethelberta, 
setding  the  time  there  and  then. 

'  Did  I  hear  you  say  that  you  were  going  to 
Cherbourg  and  Rouen  ? '  Lord  Mountclere  inquired. 

'  I  think  to  do  so,'  said  Ethelberta. 

'  I  am  going  to  Normandy  myself,'  said  a  voice 
behind  her,  and  without  turning  she  knew  that  Neigh 
was  standing  there. 

They  next  went  outside,  and  Lord  Mountclere 
offered  Ethelberta  his  arm  on  the  ground  of  assisting 
her  down  the  burnished  grass  slope.  Ethelberta, 
having  pity  upon  him,  took  it ;  but  the  assistance  was 
all  on  her  side  ;  she  stood  like  a  statue  amid  his  slips 
and  totterings,  some  of  which  taxed  her  strength 
heavily,  and  her  ingenuity  more,  to  appear  as  the 
supported  and  not  the  supporter.  The  incident 
brought  Neigh  still  further  from  his  retirement,  and 
she  learnt  that  he  was  one  of  a  yachting  party  which 
had  put  in  at  Knollsea  that  morning  ;  she  was  greatly 
relieved  to  find  that  he  was  just  now  on  his  way  to 
London,  whence  he  would  probably  proceed  on  his 
journey  abroad. 

Ethelberta  adhered  as  well  as  she  could  to  her 
resolve  that  Neigh  should  not  speak  with  her  alone,  but 
by  dint  of  perseverance  he  did  manage  to  address  her 
without  being  overheard. 

'  Will  you  give  me  an  answer  ? '  said  Neigh.  '  I 
have  come  on  purpose.' 

'  I   cannot  just  now.     I   have   been    led  to  doubt 

you.' 

•  Doubt  me  ?     What  new  wrong  have  I  done  ? ' 

*  Spoken  jestingly  of  my  visit  to  Farnfield.' 
«Good  !     I   did  not  speak  or  think  of  you. 

267 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

When  I  told  that  incident  I  had  no  idea  who  the  lady 
was — I  did  not  know  it  was  you  till  two  days  later,  and 
I  at  once  held  my  tongue.  I  vow  to  you  upon  my  soul 
and  life  that  what  I  say  is  true.  How  shall  I  prove 
my  truth  better  than  by  my  errand  here  ? ' 

'  Don't  speak  of  this  now.  I  am  so  occupied  with 
other  things.  I  am  going  to  Rouen,  and  will  think  of 
it  on  my  way.* 

*  I  am  going  there  too.     WTien  do  you  go  ? ' 

*  I  shall  be  in  Rouen  next  Wednesday,  I  hope.' 

*  May  I  ask  where  ?  ' 

*  Hotel  Beau  Sejour.' 

*  Will  you  give  me  an  answer  there  ?  I  can  easily 
call  upon  you.  It  is  now  a  month  and  more  since  you 
first  led  me  to  hope ' 

'  I  did  not  lead  you  to  hope — at  any  rate  clearly.' 
'  Indirectly  you  did.  And  although  I  am  willing  to 
be  as  considerate  as  any  man  ought  to  be  in  giving 
you  time  to  think  over  the  question,  there  is  a  limit  to 
my  patience.  Any  necessary  delay  I  wull  put  up  with, 
but  I  won't  be  trifled  with.  I  hate  all  nonsense,  and 
can't  stand  it.' 

'  Indeed.     Good-morning.* 

*  But  Mrs.  Petherwin — just  one  word.* 

*  I  have  nothing  to  say.' 

*  I  will  meet  you  at  Rouen  for  an  answer.  I  would 
meet  you  in  Hades  for  the  matter  of  that.  Remember 
this  :  next  Wednesday,  if  I  live,  I  shall  call  upon  you 
at  Rouen.' 

She  did  not  say  nay. 

*  May  I .?  '  he  added. 

*  If  you  will.' 

*  But  say  it  shall  be  an  appointment?* 

*  Very  well.' 

Lord  Mountclere  was  by  this  time  toddling  towards 
them  to  ask  if  they  would  come  on  to  his  house,  Enck- 
worth  Court,  not  very  far  distant,  to  lunch  with  the  rest 
•of  the  party.  Neigh,  having  already  arranged  to  go 
on  to  town  that  afternoon,  was  obliged  to  decline,  and 

268 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  thought  fit  to  do  the  same,  idly  asking  Lord 
Mountclere  if  Enckworth  Court  lay  in  the  direction  of 
a  gorge  that  was  visible  where  they  stood. 

*No;  considerably  to  the  right,'  he  said.  'The 
opening  you  are  looking  at  would  reveal  the  sea  if  it 
were  not  for  the  trees  that  block  the  way.  Ah,  those 
trees  have  a  history ;  they  are  half-a-dozen  elms 
which  I  planted  myself  when  I  was  a  boy.  How  time 
flies ! ' 

'  It  is  unfortunate  they  stand  just  so  as  to  cover  the 
blue  bit  of  sea.  That  addition  would  double  the  value 
of  the  view  from  here.' 

'  You  would  prefer  the  blue  sea  to  the  trees  ? ' 

*  In  that  particular  spot  I  should  ;  they  might  have 
looked  just  as  well,  and  yet  have  hidden  nothing  worth 
seeing.  The  narrow  slit  would  have  been  invaluable 
there.' 

'  They  shall  fall  before  the  sun  sets,  in  deference  to 
your  opinion,'  said  Lord  Mountclere. 

'That  would  be  rash  indeed,'  said  Ethelberta, 
laughing,  '  when  my  opinion  on  such  a  point  may  be 
worth  nothing  whatever.' 

'  Where  no  other  is  acted  upon,  it  is  practically  the 
universal  one,'  he  replied  gaily. 

And  then  Ethelberta's  elderly  admirer  bade  her 
adieu,  and  away  the  whole  party  drove  in  a  long  train 
over  the  hills  towards  the  valley  wherein  stood 
Enckworth  Court.  Ethelberta's  carriage  was  supposed 
by  her  friends  to  have  been  left  at  the  village  inn,  as 
were  many  others,  and  her  retiring  from  view  on  foot 
attracted  no  notice. 

She  watched  them  out  of  sight,  and  she  also  saw  the 
rest  depart — those  who,  their  interest  in  archaeology 
having  begun  and  ended  with  this  spot,  had,  like 
herself,  declined  the  hospitable  viscount's  invitation, 
and  started  to  drive  or  walk  at  once  home  again. 
Thereupon  the  castle  was  quite  deserted  except  by 
Ethelberta,  the  ass,  and  the  jackdaws,  now  floundering 
at  ease  again  in  and  about  the  ivy  of  the  keep. 

269 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Not  wishing  to  enter  Knollsea  till  the  evening 
shades  were  falling,  she  still  walked  amid  the  ruins, 
examining  more  leisurely  some  points  which  the  stress 
of  keeping  herself  companionable  would  not  allow  her 
to  attend  to  while  the  assemblage  was  present.  At  the 
end  of  the  survey,  being  somewhat  weary  with  her 
clambering,  she  sat  down  on  the  slope  commanding  the 
gorge  where  the  trees  grew,  to  make  a  pencil  sketch  of 
the  landscape  as  it  was  revealed  between  the  ragged 
walls.  Thus  engaged  she  weighed  the  circumstances 
of  Lord  Mountclere's  invitation,  and  could  not  be 
certain  if  it  were  prudishness  or  simple  propriety  in 
herself  which  had  instigated  her  to  refuse.  She  would 
have  liked  the  visit  for  many  reasons,  and  if  Lord 
Mountclere  had  been  anybody  but  a  remarkably 
attentive  old  widower,  she  would  have  gone.  As  it 
was,  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  there  was  something 
in  his  tone  which  should  lead  her  to  hesitate.  Were 
any  among  the  elderly  or  married  ladies  who  had 
appeared  upon  the  ground  in  a  detached  form  as  she 
had  done — and  many  had  appeared  thus — invited  to 
Enckworth  ;  and  if  not,  why  were  they  not  ?  That 
Lord  Mountclere  admired  her  there  was  no  doubt,  and 
for  this  reason  it  behoved  her  to  be  careful.  His  dis- 
appointment at  parting  from  her  was,  in  one  aspect, 
simply  laughable,  from  its  odd  resemblance  to  the 
unfeigned  sorrow  of  a  boy  of  fifteen  at  a  first  parting 
from  his  first  love  ;  in  another  aspect  it  caused 
reflection  ;  and  she  thought  again  of  his  curiosity 
about  her  doings  for  the  remainder  of  the  summer. 

While  she  sketched  and  thought  thus,  the  shadows 
grew  longer,  and  the  sun  low.  And  then  she  perceived 
a  movement  in  the  gorge.  One  of  the  trees  forming 
the  curtain  across  it  began  to  wave  strangely  :  it  went 
further  to  one  side,  and  fell.  Where  the  tree  had 
stood  was  now  a  rent  in  the  foliage,  and  through  the 
narrow  rent  could  be  seen  the  distant  sea. 

Ethelberta  uttered  a  soft  exclamation.  It  was  not 
caused  by  the  surprise  she  had  felt,  nor  by  the  intrinsic 

270 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

interest  of  the  sight,  nor  by  want  of  comprehension. 
It  was  a  sudden  realization  of  vague  things  hitherto 
dreamed  of  from  a  distance  only — a  sense  of  novel 
power  put  into  her  hands  without  request  or  expecta- 
tion. A  landscape  was  to  be  altered  to  suit  her  whim. 
She  had  in  her  life-time  moved  essentially  larger 
mountains,  but  they  had  seemed  of  far  less  splendid 
material  than  this ;  for  it  was  the  nature  of  the 
gratification  rather  than  its  magnitude  which  enchanted 
the  fancy  of  a  woman  whose  poetry,  in  spite  of  her 
necessities,  was  hardly  yet  extinguished.  But  there 
was  something  more,  with  which  poetry  had  little  to  do. 
Whether  the  opinion  of  any  pretty  woman  in  England 
was  of  more  weight  with  Lord  Mountclere  than 
memories  of  his  boyhood,  or  whether  that  distinction 
was  reserved  for  her  alone  ;  this  was  a  point  that  she 
would  have  liked  to  know. 

The  enjoyment  of  power  in  a  new  element,  an 
enjoyment  somewhat  resembling  in  kind  that  which  is 
given  by  a  first  ride  or  swim,  held  Ethelberta  to  the 
spot,  and  she  waited,  but  sketched  no  more.  Another 
tree-top  swayed  and  vanished  as  before,  and  the  slit  of 
sea  was  larger  still.  Her  mind  and  eye  were  so 
occupied  with  this  matter  that,  sitting  in  her  nook,  she 
did  not  observe  a  thin  vounor  man,  his  boots  white  with 
the  dust  of  a  long  journey  on  foot,  w^ho  arrived  at  the 
castle  by  the  valley-road  from  Knollsea.  He  looked 
awhile  at  the  ruin,  and,  skirting  its  flank  instead  of 
entering  by  the  great  gateway,  climbed  up  the  scarp 
and  walked  in  through  a  breach.  After  standing  for  a 
moment  among  the  walls,  now  silent  and  apparently 
empty,  with  a  disappointed  look  he  descended  the 
slope,  and  proceeded  along  on  his  way. 

Ethelberta,  who  was  in  quite  another  part  of  the 
castle,  saw  the  black  spot  diminishing  to  the  size  of  a 
fly  as  he  receded  along  the  dusty  road,  and  soon  after 
she  descended  on  the  other  side,  where  she  remounted 
the  ass,  and  ambled  homeward  as  she  had  come,  in  no 
bright  mood.     What,  seeing  the  precariousness  of  her 

271 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

state,  was  the  day's  triumph  worth  after  all,  unless, 
before  her  beauty  abated,  she  could  ensure  her  position 
against  the  attacks  of  chance  ? 

To  be  thus  is  nothing ; 
But  to  be  safely  thus. 

— she  said  it  more  than  once  on  her  journey  that 
day. 

On  entering  the  sitting-room  of  their  cot  up  the 
hill  she  found  it  empty,  and  from  a  change  perceptible 
in  the  position  of  small  articles  of  furniture,  something 
unusual  seemed  to  have  taken  place  in  her  absence. 
The  dwelling  being  of  that  sort  in  which  whatever 
goes  on  in  one  room  is  audible  through  all  the  rest, 
Picotee,  who  was  upstairs,  heard  the  arrival  and  came 
down.  Picotee's  face  was  rosed  over  with  the  brilliance 
of  some  excitement.  '  What  do  you  think  I  have  to 
tell  you,  Berta  ?  '  she  said. 

*I  have  no  idea,'  said  her  sister.  'Surely,'  she 
added,  her  face  intensifying  to  a  wan  sadness,  '  Mr. 
Julian  has  not  been  here  ? ' 

•Yes,' said  Picotee.  'And  we  went  down  to  the 
sands — he,  and  Myrtle,  and  Georgina,  and  Emmeline, 
and  I — and  Cornelia  came  down  when  she  had  put 
away  the  dinner.  And  then  we  dug  wriggles  out  of 
the  sand  with  Myrtle's  spade  :  we  got  such  a  lot,  and 
had  such  fun  ;  they  are  in  a  dish  in  the  kitchen.  Mr. 
Julian  came  to  see  you  ;  but  at  last  he  could  wait  no 
longer,  and  when  I  told  him  you  were  at  the  meeting 
in  the  castle  ruins  he  said  he  would  try  to  find  you 
there  on  his  way  home,  if  he  could  get  there  before 
the  meeting  broke  up.' 

'  Then  it  was  he  I  saw  far  away  on  the  road — yes, 
it  must  have  been.'  She  remained  in  gloomy  reverie 
a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  'Very  well — let  it  be. 
Picotee,  get  me  some  tea  :   I  do  not  want  dinner.' 

But  the  news  of  Christopher's  visit  seemed  to  have 
taken  away  her  appetite  for  tea  also,  and  after  sitting 
a  little  while  she  flung  herself  down  upon  the  couch, 

272 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

and  told  Picotee  that  she  had  settled  to  go  and  see 
their  aunt  Charlotte. 

'  I  am  going  to  write  to  Sol  and  Dan  to  ask  them  to 
meet  me  there,'  she  added.  '  I  want  them,  if  possible, 
to  see  Paris.  It  will  improve  them  greatly  in  their 
trades,  I  am  thinking,  if  they  can  see  the  kinds  of 
joinery  and  decoration  practised  in  France.  They 
agreed  to  go,  if  I  should  wish  it,  before  we  left  London. 
You,  of  course,  will  go  as  my  maid.' 

Picotee  gazed  upon  the  sea  with  a  crestfallen  look, 
as  if  she  would  rather  not  cross  it  in  any  capacity  just 
then. 

*  It  would  scarcely  be  worth  going  to  the  expense 
of  taking  me,  would  it  ?  '  she  said. 

The  cause  of  Picotee's  sudden  sense  of  economy 
was  so  plain  that  her  sister  smiled  ;  but  young  love, 
however  foolish,  is  to  a  thinking  person  far  too  tragic 
a  power  for  ridicule  ;  and  Ethelberta  forbore,  going  on 
as  if  Picotee  had  not  spoken  :  *  I  must  have  you  with 
me.  I  may  be  seen  there  :  so  many  are  passing 
through  Rouen  at  this  time  of  the  year.  Cornelia  can 
take  excellent  care  of  the  children  while  we  are  gone. 
I  want  to  get  out  of  England,  and  I  will  get  out  of 
England.  There  is  nothing  but  vanity  and  vexation 
here.' 

*  I  am  sorry  you  were  away  when  he  called,'  said 
Picotee  gently. 

'  O,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  wish  there  were  no 
different  ranks  in  the  world,  and  that  contrivance  were 
not  a  necessary  faculty  to  have  at  all.  Well,  we  are 
going  to  cross  by  the  little  steamer  that  puts  in  here, 
and  we  are  going  on  Monday.'  She  added  in  another 
minute,  'What  had  Mr.  Julian  to  tell  us  that  he  came 
here  ?     How  did  he  find  us  out  ? ' 

*  I  mentioned  that  we  were  coming  here  in  my 
letter  to  Faith.  Mr.  Julian  says  that  perhaps  he  and 
his  sister  may  also  come  for  a  few  days  before  the 
season  is  over.  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Julian  again. 
She  is  such  a  nice  girl.' 

273 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Yes.*  Ethelberta  played  with  her  hair,  and  looked 
at  the  ceiling  as  she  reclined.  *  I  have  decided  after 
all,'  she  said,  '  that  it  will  be  better  to  take  Cornelia  as 
my  maid,  and  leave  you  here  with  the  children.  Cor- 
nelia is  stronger  as  a  companion  than  you,  and  she  will 
be  delighted  to  go.  Do  you  think  you  are  competent 
to  keep  Myrtle  and  Georgina  out  of  harm's  way  ? ' 

*  O  yes — I  will  be  exceedingly  careful,'  said  Picotee, 
with  great  vivacity.  '  And  if  there  is  time  I  can  go  on 
teaching  them  a  little.'  Then  Picotee  caught  Ethel- 
berta's  eye,  and  colouring  red,  sank  down  beside  her 
sister,  whispering,  '  I  know  why  it  is !  But  if  you 
would  rather  have  me  with  you  I  will  go,  and  not 
once  wish  to  stay.' 

Ethelberta  looked  as  if  she  knew  all  about  that, 
and  said,  '  Of  course  there  will  be  no  necessity  to  tell 
the  Julians  about  my  departure  until  they  have  fixed 
the  time  for  coming,  and  cannot  alter  their  minds.' 

The  sound  of  the  children  with  Cornelia,  and  their 
appearance  outside  the  window,  pushing  between  the 
fuchsia  bushes  which  overhung  the  path,  put  an  end  to 
this  dialogue ;  they  entered  armed  with  buckets  and 
spades,  a  very  moist  and  sandy  aspect  pervading  them 
as  far  up  as  the  high-water  mark  of  their  clothing,  and 
began  to  tell  Ethelberta  of  the  wonders  of  the  deep. 


A  ROOM  IN 
ENCKWORTH  COURT 

XXXII 

*  Are  you  sure  the  report  is  true  ? ' 

*  I  am  sure  that  what  I  say  is  true,  my  lord  ;  but  it 
is  hardly  to  be  called  a  report.  It  is  a  secret,  known 
at  present  to  nobody  but  myself  and  Mrs.  Doncastle's 
maid.* 

The  speaker  was  Lord  Mountclere's  trusty  valet,  and 
the  conversation  was  between  him  and  the  viscount  in 
a  dressing-room  at  Enckworth  Court,  on  the  evening 
after  the  meeting  of  archaeologists  at  Corvsgate  Castle. 

*Hm-h'm;  the  daughter  of  a  butler.  Does  Mrs. 
Doncastle  know  of  this  yet,  or  Mr.  Neigh,  or  any  of 
their  friends  ^ ' 

*  No,  my  lord.* 

'  You  are  quite  positive  ?  * 

*  Quite  positive.  I  was,  by  accident,  the  first  that 
Mrs.  Menlove  named  the  matter  to,  and  I  told  her  it 
might  be  much  to  her  advantage  if  she  took  particular 
care  it  should  go  no  further.' 

'  Mrs.  Menlove !     Who's  she  ?  * 

*  The  lady's-maid  at  Mrs.  Doncastle's,  my  lord.* 

*  O,  ah  —  of  course.  You  may  leave  me  now, 
Tipman.'  Lord  Mountclere  remained  in  thought  for 
a  moment.  *  A  clever  little  puss,  to  hoodwink  us  all 
like  this — hee-hee  ! ' — he  murmured.  '  Her  education 
— how  finished  ;    and  her  beauty — so  seldom  that  I 

27S 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

meet  with  such  a  woman.  Cut  dow^n  my  elms  to 
please  a  butler's  daughter — what  a  joke — certainly  a 
good  joke !  To  interest  me  in  her  on  the  right  side 
instead  of  the  wrong  was  strange.  But  it  can  be  made 
to  change  sides — hee-hee ! — it  can  be  made  to  change 
sides  !     Tipman  ! ' 

Tipman  came  forward  from  the  doorway. 

*  Will  you  take  care  that  that  piece  of  gossip  you 
mentioned  to  me  is  not  repeated  in  this  house  ?  I 
strongly  disapprove  of  talebearing  of  any  sort,  and 
wish  to  hear  no  more  of  this.  Such  stories  are  never 
true.  Answer  me — do  you  hear  ?  Such  stories  are 
never  true.' 

'  I  beg  pardon,  but  I  think  your  lordship  will  find 
this  one  true,'  said  the  valet  quietly. 

'  Then  where  did  she  get  her  manners  and  educa- 
tion ?     Do  vou  know  ? ' 

'  I  do  not,  my  lord.  I  suppose  she  picked  'em  up 
by  her  wuts.' 

'  Never  mind  what  you  suppose,'  said  the  old  man 
impatiently.  '  Whenever  I  ask  a  question  of  you  tell 
me  what  you  know,  and  no  more.' 

*  Quite  so,  my  lord.  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon 
for  supposing.' 

'  H'm-h'm.  Have  the  fashion -books  and  plates 
arrived  yet  ? ' 

*  Le  Follet  has,  my  lord  ;  but  not  the  others.' 

'  Let  me  have  it  at  once.  Always  bring  it  to  me 
at  once.     Are  there  any  handsome  ones  this  time } ' 

'  They  are  much  the  same  class  of  female  as  usual, 
I  think,  my  lord.'  said  Tipn.an,  fetching  the  paper  and 
laying  it  before  him. 

'Yes,  they  are,'  said  the  viscount,  leaning  back  and 
scrutinizing  the  faces  of  the  women  one  by  one,  and 
talking  softly  to  himself  in  a  way  that  had  grown  upon 
him  as  his  age  increased.  '  Yet  they  are  very  well  : 
that  one  with  her  shoulder  turned  is  pure  and  charming 
— the  brown-haired  one  will  pass.  All  very  harmless 
and  innocent,  but  without  character ;    no  soul,  or  in- 

276 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

spiration,  or  eloquence  of  eye.  What  an  eye  was  hers ! 
There  is  not  a  girl  among  them  so  beautiful.  .  .  . 
Tipman !  Come  and  take  it  away.  I  don't  think  I 
will  subscribe  to  these  papers  any  longer — how  long 
have  I  subscribed  ?  Never  mind — I  take  no  interest 
in  these  things,  and  I  suppose  I  must  give  them  up. 
What  white  article  is  that  I  see  on  the  floor  yonder  ? ' 

*  I  can  see  nothing,  my  lord.' 

*  Yes,  yes,  you  can.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
It  is  a  white  handkerchief.      Bring  it  to  me.' 

*  I  beg  pardon,  my  lord,  but  I  cannot  see  any  white 
handkerchief.    Whereabouts  does  your  lordship  mean  ? ' 

*  There  in  the  corner.  If  it  is  not  a  handkerchief, 
what  is  it  ?  Walk  along  till  you  come  to  it — that  is  it ; 
now  a  little  further — now  your  foot  is  against  it.' 

'  O  that — it  is  not  anything.  It  is  the  light  reflected 
against  the  skirting,  so  that  it  looks  like  a  white  patch 
of  something — that  is  all.* 

'  H'm-h'm.  My  eyes — how  weak  they  are!  I  am 
getting  old,  that's  what  it  is  :  I  am  an  old  man.' 

*  O  no,  my  lord.' 

*  Yes,  an  old  man. 

'  Well,   we  shall  all  be  old  some  day,  and  so  will 

your  lordship,  I  suppose  ;  but  as  yet ' 

'  I  tell  you  I  am  an  old  man ! ' 

*  Yes,  my  lord — I  did  not  mean  to  contradict.  An 
old  man  in  one  sense — old  in  a  young  man's  sense, 
but  not  in  a  house-of-parliament  or  historical  sense. 
A  little  oldish — I  meant  that,  my  lord.' 

'  I  may  be  an  old  man  in  one  sense  or  in  another 
sense  in  your  mind  ;  but  let  me  tell  you  there  are  men 
older  than  I.' 

'  Yes,  so  there  are,  my  lord.* 

*  People  may  call  me  what  they  please,  and  you 
may  be  impertinent  enough  to  repeat  to  me  what 
they  say,  but  let  me  tell  you  I  am  not  a  very  old  man 
after  all.      I  am  not  an  old  man.' 

'  Old  in  knowledge  of  the  world  I  meant,  my  lord, 
not  in  years.' 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'Well,  yes.  Experience  of  course  I  cannot  be 
without.  And  I  like  what  is  beautiful.  Tipman,  you 
must  go  to  Knollsea ;  don't  send,  but  go  yourself,  as  I 
wish  nobody  else  to  be  concerned  in  this.  Go  to 
Knollsea,  and  find  out  when  the  steamboat  for  Cher- 
bourg starts  ;  and  when  you  have  done  that,  I  shall 
want  you  to  send  Taylor  to  me.  I  wish  Captain 
Strong  to  bring  the  Fawn  round  into  Knollsea  Bay. 
Next  week  I  may  want  you  to  go  to  Cherbourg  in  the 
yacht  with  me — if  the  Channel  is  pretty  calm — and 
then  perhaps  to  Rouen  and  Paris.  But  I  will  speak 
of  that  to-morrow.* 

*  Very  good,  my  lord.* 

*  Meanwhile  I  recommend  that  you  and  Mrs. 
Menlove  repeat  nothing  you  may  have  heard  concern- 
ing the  lady  you  just  now  spoke  of.  Here  is  a  slight 
present  for  Mrs.  Menlove ;  and  accept  this  for  your- 
self.'    He  handed  money. 

*  Your  lordship  may  be  sure  we  will  not,'  the  valet 
replied* 


THE  ENGLISH  CHANNEL 

NORMANDY 

XXXIII 

On  Monday  morning  the  little  steamer  Speedwell 
made  her  appearance  round  the  promontory  by  Knollsea 
Bay,  to  take  in  passengers  for  the  transit  to  Cherbourg. 
Breezes  the  freshest  that  could  blow  without  verging 
on  keenness  flew  over  the  quivering  deeps  and  shallows  ; 
and  the  sunbeams  pierced  every  detail  of  barrow,  path, 
and  rabbit-run  upon  the  lofty  convexity  of  down  and 
waste  which  shut  in  Knollsea  from  the  world  to  the 

west. 

They  left  the  pier  at  eight  o'clock,  taking  at  first  a 
short  easterly  course  to  avoid  a  sinister  ledge  of  lime- 
stones jutting  from  the  water  like  crocodile's  teeth, 
which  first  obtained  notoriety  in  English  history 
through  being  the  spot  whereon  a  formidable  Danish 
fleet  went  to  pieces  a  thousand  years  ago.  At  the 
moment  that  die  Speedwell  turned  to  enter  upon  the 
direct  course,  a  schooner-yacht,  whose  sheets  gleamed 
like  bridal  satin,  loosed  from  a  remoter  part  of  the 
bay  ;  continuing  to  bear  off,  she  cut  across  the  steamer  s 
wake,  and  took  a  course  almost  due  southerly,  which 
was  precisely  that  of  the  Speedwell.  The  wind  was 
very  favourable  for  the  yacht,  blowing  a  few  points 
from  north  in  a  steady  pressure  on  her  quarter,  and, 
having  been  built  with  every  modern  appliance  that 
shipwrights  could  offer,  the  schooner  found  no  difficulty 

279 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

in  getting  abreast,  and  even  ahead,  of  the  steamer,  as 
soon  as  she  had  escaped  the  shelter  of  the  hills. 

The  more  or  less  parallel  courses  of  the  vessels 
continued  for  some  time  without  causing  any  remark 
among  the  people  on  board  the  Speedwell.  At  length 
one  noticed  the  fact,  and  another  ;  and  then  it  became 
the  general  topic  of  conversation  in  the  group  upon 
the  bridge,  where  Ethelberta,  her  hair  getting  frizzed 
and  her  cheeks  carnationed  by  the  wind,  sat  upon  a 
camp-stool  looking  towards  the  prow. 

'She  is  bound  for  Guernsey,'  said  one.  *  In  half 
an  hour  she  will  put  about  for  a  more  westerly  course, 
you'll  see.' 

*  She  is  not  for  Guernsey  or  anywhere  that  wa) ,' 
said  an  acquaintance,  looking  through  his  glass.  '  If 
she  is  out  for  anything  more  than  a  morning  cruise, 
she  is  bound  for  our  port.  I  should  not  wonder  if  she 
is  crossing  to  get  stocked,  as  most  of  them  do,  to  save 
the  duty  on  her  wine  and  provisions.' 

*  Do  you  know  whose  yacht  it  is  ?  * 
'  I  do  not.' 

Ethelberta  looked  at  the  light  leaning  figure  of  the 
pretty  schooner,  which  seemed  to  skate  along  upon 
her  bilge  and  make  white  shavings  of  all  the  sea  that 
touched  her.  She  at  first  imagined  that  this  might  be 
the  yacht  Neigh  had  arrived  in  at  the  end  of  the 
previous  week,  for  she  knew  that  he  came  as  one  of 
a  yachting  party,  and  she  had  noticed  no  other  boat 
of  that  sort  in  the  bay  since  his  arrival.  But  as  all  his 
party  had  gone  ashore  and  not  yet  returned,  she  was 
surprised  to  see  the  supposed  vessel  here.  To  add  to 
her  perplexity,  she  could  not  be  positive,  now  that  it 
came  to  a  real  nautical  query,  whether  the  craft  of 
Neigh's  friends  had  one  mast  or  two,  for  she  had 
caught  but  a  fragmentary  view  of  the  topsail  over  the 
apple-trees. 

*  Is  that  the  yacht  which  has  been  lying  at  Knollsea 
for  the  last  few  days  ? '  she  inquired  of  the  master  of 
the  Speedwell,  as  soon  as  she  had  an  opportunity. 

280 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

The  master  warmed  beneath  his  copper-coloured 
rind.  '  O  no,  miss  ;  that  one  you  saw  was  a  cutter — 
a  smaller  boat  altogether,'  he  replied.  *  Built  on  the 
sliding-keel  principle,  you  understand,  miss — and  red 
below  her  water-line,  if  you  noticed.  This  is  Lord 
Mountclere's  yacht — the  Fawn.  You  might  have  seen 
her  re'ching  in  round  Old-Harr)'  Rock  this  morning 
afore  we  started.' 

'  Lord  Mountclere's  ?  ' 

'Yes — a  nobleman  of  this  neighbourhood.  But  he 
don't  do  so  much  at  yachting  as  he  used  to  in  his 
younger  days.  I  believe  he's  aboard  this  morning, 
however.' 

Ethelberta  now  became  more  absorbed  than  ever 
in  their  ocean  comrade,  and  watched  its  motions 
continuallv.  The  schooner  was  considerablv  in 
advance  of  them  by  this  time,  and  seemed  to  be 
getting  by  degrees  out  of  their  course.  She  wondered 
if  Lord  Mountclere  could  be  really  going  to  Cherbourg: 
if  so,  why  had  he  said  nothing  about  the  trip  to  her 
when  she  spoke  of  her  own  approaching  voyage 
thither  '^.  The  yacht  changed  its  character  in  her 
eyes  ;  losing  the  indefinite  interest  of  the  unknown, 
it  acquired  the  charm  of  a  riddle  on  motives,  of  which 
the  alternatives  were,  had  Lord  Mountclere's  journey 
anvthino:  to  do  with  her  own,  or  had  it  not  ?  Common 
probability  pointed  to  the  latter  supposition  ;  but  the 
time  of  starting,  the  course  of  the  yacht,  and  re- 
collections of  Lord  Mountclere's  homage,  suggested 
the  more  extraordinary  possibility. 

She  went  across  to  Cornelia.  *  The  man  who 
handed  us  on  board — didn't  I  see  him  speaking  to 
you  this  morning  ? '  she  said. 

'O  yes.'  said  Cornelia.  '  He  asked  if  my  mistress 
was  the  popular  Mrs.  Petherwin  ? 

*  And  you  told  him,  I  suppose  ? ' 
'Yes.' 

*  What  made  vou  do  that,  Cornelia  ?  * 

*  I   thought   I  might  :   I  couldn't  help  it.     When  I 

281 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

went  through  the  toll-gate,  such  a  gentlemanly-looking 
man  asked  me  if  he  should  help  me  to  carry  the  things 
to  the  end  of  the  pier ;  and  as  we  went  on  together  he 
said  he  supposed  me  to  be  Mrs.  Petherwin's  maid.  I 
said,  *'  Yes."  The  two  men  met  afterwards,  so  there 
would  ha'  been  no  good  in  my  denying  it  to  one 
of  em.* 

*  Who  was  this  gentlemanly  person  ?  * 

*  I  asked  the  other  man  that,  and  he  told  me  one 
of  Lord  Mountclere's  upper  servants.  I  knew  then 
there  was  no  harm  in  having  been  civil  to  him.  He  is 
well-mannered,  and  talks  splendid  language.' 

*That  yacht  you  see  on  our  right  hand  is  Lord 
Mountclere's  property.  If  I  do  not  mistake,  we  shall 
have  her  closer  by-and-by,  and  you  may  meet  your 
gendemanly  friend  again.  Be  careful  how  you  talk 
to  him.' 

Ethelberta  sat  down,  thought  of  the  meeting  at 
Corvsgate  Casde,  of  the  dinner-party  at  Mr.  Don- 
casde's,  of  the  strange  position  she  had  there  been  in, 
and  then  of  her  father.  She  suddenly  reproached  her- 
self for  thoughdessness  ;  for  in  her  pocket  lay  a  letter 
from  him,  which  she  had  taken  from  the  postman  that 
morning  at  the  moment  of  coming  from  the  door,  and 
in  the  hurry  of  embarking  had  forgotten  ever  since. 
Opening  it  quickly,  she  read  : — 

My  dear  Ethelberta, — Your  letter  reached  me  yester- 
day, and  I  called  round  at  Exonbury  Crescent  in  the  afternoon, 
as  you  wished.  Everything  is  going  on  right  there,  and  you 
have  no  occasion  to  be  anxious  about  them.  I  do  not  leave 
town  for  another  week  or  two,  and  by  the  time  I  am  gone  Sol 
and  Dan  will  have  returned  from  Paris,  if  your  mother  and 
Gwendoline  want  any  help :  so  that  you  need  not  hurry  back 
on  their  account. 

I  have  something  else  to  tell  you,  which  is  not  quite  so 
satisfactory,  and  it  is  this  that  makes  me  write  at  once ;  but 
do  not  be  alarmed.  It  began  in  this  way.  A  few  nights  after 
the  dinner-party  here  I  was  determined  to  find  out  if  there 
was  any  truth  in  what  you  had  been  told  about  that  boy,  and 
having  seen  Menlove  go  out  as  usual  after  dark,  I  followed 

282 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

her.  Sure  enough,  when  she  had  got  into  the  park,  up  came 
master  Joe,  smoking  a  cigar.  As  soon  as  they  had  met  I 
went  towards  them,  and  Menlove,  seeing  somebody  draw  nigh, 
began  to  edge  off,  when  the  blockhead  said,  '  Never  mind,  my 
love,  it  is  only  the  old  man.'  Being  very  provoked  with  both 
of  them,  though  she  was  really  the  most  to  blame,  I  gave  him 
some  smart  cuts  across  the  shoulders  with  my  cane,  and  told 
him  to  go  home,  which  he  did  with  a  flea  in  his  ear,  the  rascal. 
I  believe  I  have  cured  his  courting  tricks  for  some  little  time. 

Well,  Menlove  then  walked  by  me,  quite  cool,  as  if  she 
were  merely  a  lady  passing  by  chance  at  the  time,  which 
provoked  me  still  more,  knowing  the  whole  truth  of  it,  and  I 
could  not  help  turning  upon  her  and  saying,  'You,  madam, 
ought  to  be  served  the  same  way.'  She  replied  in  very  haughty 
words,  and  I  walked  away,  saying  that  I  had  something  better 
to  do  than  argue  with  a  woman  of  her  character  at  that  hour  of 
the  evening.  This  so  set  her  up  that  she  followed  me  home, 
marched  into  my  pantry,  and  told  me  that  if  I  had  been  more 
careful  about  my  manners  in  calling  her  a  bad  character,  it 
might  have  been  better  both  for  me  and  my  stuck-up  daughter 
— a  daw  in  eagle's  plumes — and  so  on.  Now  it  seems  that  she 
must  have  coaxed  something  out  of  Joey  about  you — for  what 
lad  in  the  world  could  be  a  match  for  a  woman  of  her 
experience  and  arts !  I  hope  she  will  do  you  no  serious 
damage  ;  but  I  tell  you  the  whole  state  of  affairs  exactly  as 
they  are,  that  you  may  form  your  own  opinions.  After  all, 
there  is  no  real  disgrace,  for  none  of  us  have  ever  done  wrong, 
but  have  worked  honestly  for  a  living.  However,  I  will  let 
you  know  if  anything  serious  really  happens. 

This  was  all  that  her  father  said  on  the  matter,  the 
letter  concluding  with  messages  to  the  children  and 
directions  from  their  mother  with  regard  to  their 
clothes. 

Ethelberta  felt  very  distinctly  that  she  was  In  a 
strait ;  the  old  Impression  that,  unless  her  position 
were  secured  soon,  it  never  would  be  secured,  returned 
with  great  force.  A  doubt  whether  It  was  worth 
securing  would  have  been  very  strong  ere  this,  had  not 
others  besides  herself  been  concerned  In  her  fortunes. 
She  looked  up  from  her  letter,  and  beheld  the  per- 
tinacious yacht ;  It  led  her  up  to  a  conviction  that 
therein  lay  a  means  and  an  opportunity. 

283 


THE  HAiND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Nothing  further  of  importance  occurred  in  crossing. 
Ethelberta's  head  ached  after  a  while,  and  Cornelia's 
healthy  cheeks  of  red  were  found  to  have  diminished 
their  colour  to  the  size  of  a  wafer  and  the  quality  of  a 
stain.  The  Speedwell  entered  the  breakwater  at  Cher- 
bourg to  find  the  schooner  already  in  the  roadstead ; 
and  by  the  time  the  steamer  was  brought  up  Ethelberta 
could  see  the  men  on  board  the  yacht  clewing  up  and 
making  things  snug  in  a  way  from  which  she  inferred 
that  they  were  not  going  to  leave  the  harbour  again 
that  day.  With  the  aspect  of  a  fair  galleon  that  could 
easily  out-manoeuvre  her  persevering  buccaneer,  Ethel- 
berta passed  alongside.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Lord 
Mountclere  had  on  her  account  fixed  this  day  for  his 
visit  across  the  Channel  ? 

*  Well,  I  would  rather  be  haunted  by  him  than  by 
Mr.  Neigh,'  she  said  ;  and  began  laying  her  plans  so 
as  to  guard  against  inconvenient  surprises. 

The  next  morninor  Ethelberta  was  at  the  railwav 
station,  taking  tickets  for  herself  and  Cornelia,  when 
she  saw  an  old  yet  sly  and  somewhat  merry-faced 
Englishman  a  little  way  off.  He  was  attended  by  a 
younger  man,  who  appeared  to  be  his  valet. 

'I  will  exchange  one  of  these  tickets,'  she  said  to 
the  clerk,  and  having  done  so  she  went  to  Cornelia  to 
inform  her  that  it  would  after  all  be  advisable  for  them 
to  travel  separate,  adding,  '  Lord  Mountclere  is  in  the 
station,  and  I  think  he  is  going  on  by  our  train. 
Remember,  you  are  my  maid  again  now.  Is  not  that 
the  gentlemanly  man  who  assisted  you  yesterday } ' 
She  signified  the  valet  as  she  spoke. 

'  It  is,'  said  Cornelia. 

When  the  passengers  were  taking  their  seats,  and 
Ethelberta  was  thinkinor  whether  she  micrht  not  after  all 
enter  a  second-class  with  Cornelia  instead  of  sitting 
solitary  in  a  first  because  of  an  old  man's  proximity,  she 
heard  a  shufiiinor  at  her  elbow,  and  the  next  moment 
found  that  he  was  overtly  observing  her  as  if  he  had  not 
done  so  in  secret  at  all.      She  at  once  gave  him  an 

284 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

unsurprised  gesture  of  recognition.  '  I  saw  you  some 
time  ago  ;  what  a  singular  coincidence,'  she  said. 

'A  charming  one,'  said  Lord  Mountclere,  smiling  a 
half-minute  smile,  and  making  as  if  he  would  take  his 
hat  off  and  would  not  quite.  '  Perhaps  we  must  not 
call  it  coincidence  entirely,'  he  continued  ;  *  my  journey, 
which  I  have  contemplated  for  some  time,  was  not  fixed 
this  week  altogether  without  a  thought  of  your  presence 
on  the  road — hee-hee  !     Do  you  go  far  to-day  ? ' 

'As  far  as  Caen,'  said  Ethelberta. 

*  Ah !  That's  the  end  of  my  day's  journey,  too,' 
said  Lord  Mountclere.  They  parted  and  took  their 
respective  places,  Lord  Mountclere  choosing  a  com- 
partment next  to  the  one  Ethelberta  was  entering,  and 
not,  as  she  had  expected,  attempting  to  join  her. 

Now  she  had  instantly  fancied  when  the  viscount 
was  speaking  that  there  were  signs  of  some  departure 
from  his  former  respectful  manner  towards  her  ;  and 
an  enigma  lay  in  that.  At  their  earlier  meetings  he 
had  never  ventured  upon  a  distinct  coupling  of  himself 
and  herself  as  he  had  done  in  his  broad  compliment 
to-day — if  compliment  it  could  be  called.  She  was 
not  sure  that  he  did  not  exceed  his  license  in  tellinor 
her  deliberately  that  he  had  meant  to  hover  near  her 
in  a  private  journey  which  she  was  taking  without 
reference  to  him.  She  did  not  object  to  the  act,  but 
to  the  avowal  of  the  act ;  and,  being  as  sensitive  as  a 
barometer  on  signs  affecting  her  social  condition,  it 
darted  upon  Ethelberta  for  one  little  moment  that  he 
might  possibly  have  heard  a  word  or  two  about  her 
beinor  nothino-  more  nor  less  than  one  of  a  tribe  of 
thralls  ;  hence  his  freedom  of  manner.  Certainly  a 
plain  remark  of  that  sort  was  exactly  what  a  susceptible 
peer  might  be  supposed  to  say  to  a  pretty  woman  of 
far  inferior  degree.  A  rapid  redness  filled  her  face  at 
the  thought  that  he  might  have  smiled  upon  her  as 
upon  a  domestic  whom  he  was  disposed  to  chuck  under 
the  chin.  '  But  no,'  she  said.  '  He  would  never  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  follow  and  meet  wit-h  me  had  he 

285 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

learnt  to  think  me  other  than  a  lady.     It  is  extremity 
of  devotion — that's  all.' 

It  was  not  Ethelberta's  inexperience,  but  that  her 
conception  of  self  precluded  such  an  association  of 
,  ideas,  which  led  her  to  dismiss  the  surmise  that  his 
attendance  could  be  inspired  by  a  motive  beyond  that 
of  paying  her  legitimate  attentions  as  a  co-ordinate 
with  him  and  his  in  the  social  field.  Even  if  he  only 
meant  flirtation,  she  read  it  as  of  that  sort  from  which 
courtship  with  an  eye  to  matrimony  differs  only  in 
degree.  Hence,  she  thought,  his  interest  in  her  was 
not  likely,  under  the  ordinary  influences  of  caste 
feeling,  to  continue  longer  than  while  he  was  kept  in 
ignorance  of  her  consanguinity  with  a  stock  proscribed. 
She  sighed  at  the  anticipated  close  of  her  full -feathered 
towering  when  her  ties  and  bonds  should  be  uncovered. 
She  might  have  seen  matters  in  a  different  light,  and 
sighed  more.  But  in  the  stir  of  the  moment  it  escaped  her 
thought  that  ignorance  of  her  position,  and  a  consequent 
regard  for  her  as  a  woman  of  good  standing,  would 
have  prevented  his  indulgence  in  any  course  which 
was  open  to  the  construction  of  being  disrespectful. 

Valognes,  Carentan,  Isigny,  Bayeux,  w^ere  passed, 
and  the  train  drew  up  at  Caen.  Ethelberta's  intention 
had  been  to  stay  here  for  one  night,  but  having  learnt 
from  Lord  Mountclere,  as  previously  described,  that 
this  was  his  destination,  she  decided  to  go  on.  On 
turning  towards  the  carriage  after  a  few  minutes  of 
promenading  at  the  Caen  station,  she  was  surprised  to 
perceive  that  Lord  Mountclere,  who  had  alighted  as  if 
to  leave,  was  still  there. 

They  spoke  again  to  each  other.  *  I  find  I  have 
to  go  further,'  he  suddenly  said,  when  she  had  chatted 
with  him  a  little  time.  And  beckoning  to  the  man 
who  was  attending  to  his  baggage,  he  directed  the 
things  to  be  again  placed  in  the  train. 

Time  passed,  and  they  changed  at  the  next 
junction.  When  Ethelberta  entered  a  carriage  on  the 
branch  line  to  take  her  seat  for  the  remainder  of  the 

286 


A  COMEDY  IxN  CHAPTERS 

journey,  there  sat  the  viscount  in  the  same  division. 
He  explained  that  he  was  going  to  Rouen. 

Ethelberta  came  to  a  quick  resolution.  Her 
audacity,  like  that  of  a  child  getting  nearer  and  nearer 
a  parent's  side,  became  wonderfully  vigorous  as  she 
approached  her  destination  ;  and  though  there  were 
three  good  hours  of  travel  to  Rouen  as  yet,  the  heavier 
part  of  the  journey  was  past.  At  her  aunt's  would  be 
a  safe  refuge,  play  what  pranks  she  might,  and  there 
she  would  to-morrow  meet  those  bravest  of  defenders 
Sol  and  Dan,  to  whom  she  had  sent  as  much  money  as 
she  could  conveniently  spare  towards  their  expenses, 
with  directions  that  they  were  to  come  by  the  most 
economical  route,  and  meet  her  at  the  house  of  her 
aunt,  Madame  Moulin,  previous  to  their  educational 
trip  to  Paris,  their  own  contribution  being  the  value  of 
the  week's  work  they  would  have  to  lose.  Thus 
backed  up  by  Sol  and  Dan,  her  aunt,  and  Cornelia, 
Ethelberta  felt  quite  the  reverse  of  a  lonely  female 
persecuted  by  a  wicked  lord  in  a  foreign  country. 
*  He  shall  pay  for  his  weaknesses,  whatever  they 
mean,'  she  thought;  'and  what  they  mean  I  will  find 
out  at  once.' 

'  I  am  going  to  Paris,'  she  said. 

*  You  cannot  to-night,  I  think.' 

*  To-morrow,  I  mean.' 

*  I  should  like  to  go  on  to-morrow.  Perhaps  I  may. 
So  that  there  is  a  chance  of  our  meeting"  aeain.' 

'  Yes  ;  but  I  do  not  leave  Rouen  till  the  afternoon. 
I  first  shall  go  to  the  cathedral,  and  drive  round  the 
city.' 

Lord  Mountclere  smiled  pleasantly.  There  seemed 
a  sort  of  encouragement  in  her  words.  Ethelberta's 
thoughts,  however,  had  flown  at  that  moment  to  the 
approaching  situation  at  her  aunt's  hotel  :  it  would  be 
extremely  embarrassing  if  he  should  go  there. 

*  Where  do  you  stay.  Lord  Mountclere  ? '  she  said. 
Thus  directly  asked,  he  could  not  but  commit  him- 
self to  the  name  of  the  hotel  he  had  been  accustomed 

287 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

to  patronize,  which  was  one  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
city. 

*  Mine  is  not  that  one,'  said  Ethelberta  frigidly. 

No  further  remark  was  made  under  this  head,  and 
they  conversed  for  the  remainder  of  the  daylight  on 
scenery  and  other  topics,  Lord  Mountclere's  air  of 
festivity  lending  him  all  the  qualities  of  an  agreeable 
companion.  But  notwithstanding  her  resolve,  Ethel- 
berta failed,  for  that  day  at  least,  to  make  her  mind 
clear  upon  Lord  Mountclere's  intentions.  To  that  end 
she  would  have  liked  first  to  know  what  were  the 
exact  limits  set  by  society  to  conduct  under  present 
conditions,  if  society  had  ever  set  any  at  all,  which 
was  open  to  question  :  since  experience  had  long  ago 
taught  her  that  much  more  freedom  actually  prevails 
in  the  communion  of  the  sexes  than  is  put  on  paper  as 
etiquette,  or  admitted  in  so  many  words  as  correct 
behaviour.  In  short,  everything  turned  upon  whether 
he  had  learnt  of  her  position  when  off  the  platform  at 
Mayfair  Hall. 

Wearied  with  these  surmises,  and  the  day's  travel, 
she  closed  her  eyes.  And  then  her  enamoured  com- 
panion more  widely  opened  his,  and  traced  the  beautiful 
features  opposite  him.  The  arch  of  the  brows — like  a 
slur  in  music — the  droop  of  the  lashes,  the  meeting  of 
the  lips,  and  the  sweet  rotundity  of  the  chin — one  by 
one,  and  all  together,  they  were  adored,  till  his  heart 
was  like  a  retort  full  of  spirits  of  wine. 

It  was  a  warm  evening,  and  when  they  arrived  at 
their  journey's  end  distant  thunder  rolled  behind  heavy 
and  opaque  clouds.  Ethelberta  bade  adieu  to  her 
attentive  satellite,  called  to  Cornelia,  and  entered  a 
cab ;  but  before  they  reached  the  inn  the  thunder  had 
increased.  Then  a  cloud  cracked  into  flame  behind 
the  iron  spire  of  the  cathedral,  showing  in  relief  its 
black  ribs  and  stanchions,  as  if  they  were  the  bars  of  a 
blazing  cresset  held  on  high. 

'  Ah,  we  will  clamber  up  there  to-morrow,'  said 
Ethelberta. 

288 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

A  wondrous  stillness  pervaded  the  streets  of  the 
city  after  this,  though  it  was  not  late  ;  and  their  arrival 
at  M.  Moulin's  door  was  quite  an  event  for  the  quay. 
No  rain  came,  as  they  had  expected,  and  by  the  time 
they  halted  the  western  sky  had  cleared,  so  that  the 
newly-lit  lamps  on  the  quay,  and  the  evening  glow 
shining  over  the  river,  inwove  their  harmonious  rays 
as  the  warp  and  woof  of  one  lustrous  tissue.  Before 
they  had  alighted  there  appeared  from  the  archway 
Madame  Moulin  in  person,  followed  by  the  servants  of 
the  hotel  in  a  manner  signifying  that  they  did  not 
receive  a  visitor  once  a  fortnight,  though  at  that 
moment  the  clatter  of  sixty  knives,  forks,  and  tongues 
was  audible  through  an  open  window  from  the  adjoining 
dining-room,  to  the  great  interest  of  a  group  of  idlers 
outside.  Ethelberta  had  not  seen  her  aunt  since  she 
last  passed  through  the  town  with  Lady  Petherwin, 
w^ho  then  told  her  that  this  landlady  was  the  only 
respectable  relative  she  seemed  to  have  in  the  world. 

Aunt  Charlotte's  face  was  an  English  outline  filled 
in  with  French  shades  under  the  eyes,  on  the  brows, 
and  round  the  mouth,  by  the  natural  effect  of  years  ; 
she  resembled  the  British  hostess  as  little  as  well  could 
be,  no  point  in  her  causing  the  slightest  suggestion  of 
drops  taken  for  the  stomach's  sake.  Telling  the  two 
young  women  she  would  gladly  have  met  them  at  the 
station  had  she  known  the  hour  of  their  arrival,  she 
kissed  them  both  without  much  apparent  notice  of  a 
difference  in  their  conditions  ;  indeed,  seeming  rather 
to  incline  to  Cornelia,  whose  country  face  and  homely 
style  of  clothing  may  have  been  more  to  her  mind 
than  Ethelberta's  finished  travelling-dress,  a  class  of 
article  to  which  she  appeared  to  be  well  accustomed. 
Her  husband  was  at  this  time  at  the  head  of  the  table- 
d'hote,  and  mentioning  the  fact  as  an  excuse  for  his 
non-appearance,  she  accompanied  them  upstairs. 

After  the  strain  of  keeping  up  smiles  with  Lord 
Mountclere,  the  rattle  and  shaking,  and  the  general 
excitements  of  the  chase  across  the  water  and  along 

289 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  rail,  a  face  in  which  she  saw  a  dim  reflex  of  her 
mother's  was  soothing  in  the  extreme,  and  Ethelberta 
went  up  to  the  staircase  with  a  feeling  of  expansive 
thankfulness.  Cornelia  paused  to  admire  the  clean 
court  and  the  small  caged  birds  sleeping  on  their 
perches,  the  boxes  of  veronica  in  bloom,  of  oleander, 
and  of  tamarisk,  which  freshened  the  air  of  the  court 
and  lent  a  romance  to  the  lamplight,  the  cooks  in  their 
paper  caps  and  white  blouses  appearing  at  odd  moments 
from  an  Avernus  behind  ;  while  the  prompt  *  v'la ! '  of 
teetotums  in  mob  caps,  spinning  down  the  staircase  in 
answer  to  the  periodic  clang  of  bells,  filled  her  with 
wonder,  and  pricked  her  conscience  with  thoughts 
of  how  seldom  such  transcendent  nimbleness  was 
attempted  by  herself  in  a  part  so  nearly  similar. 


THE  hQtEL  beau  S^JOUR 

AND  SPOTS  NEAR  IT 

XXXIV 

The  next  day,  much  to  Ethelberta's  surprise,  there 
was  a  letter  for  her  in  her  mother's  up-hill  hand.  She 
neglected  all  the  rest  of  its  contents  for  the  following 
enCTrossinof  sentences  : — 

Menlove  has  wormed  everything  out  of  poor  Joey,  we 
find,  and  your  father  is  much  upset  about  it.  She  had  another 
quarrel  with  him,  and  then  declared  she  would  expose  you 
and  us  to  Mrs.  Doncastle  and  all  your  friends.  I  think  that 
Menlove  is  the  kind  of  woman  who  will  stick  to  her  word, 
and  the  question  for  you  to  consider  is,  how  can  you  best  face 
out  any  report  of  the  truth  which  she  will  spread,  and  con- 
tradict the  lies  that  she  will  add  to  it  ?  It  appears  to  me  to 
be  a  dreadful  thing,  and  so  it  will  probably  appear  to  you. 
The  worst  part  will  be  that  your  sisters  and  brothers  are  your 
servants,  and  that  your  father  is  actually  engaged  in  the 
house  where  you  dine.  I  am  dreadful  afraid  that  this  will 
be  considered  a  fine  joke  for  gossips,  and  will  cause  no  end  of 
laughs  in  society  at  your  expense.  At  any  rate,  should 
Menlove  spread  the  report,  it  would  absolutely  prevent  people 
from  attending  your  lectures  next  season,  for  they  would  feel 
like  dupes,  and  be  angry  with  theirselves,  and  you,  and  all 
of  us. 

The  only  way  out  of  the  muddle  that  I  can  see  for  you  is 
to  put  some  scheme  of  marr}nng  into  effect  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  before  these  things  are  known.  Surely  by  this  time,  with 
all  your  opportunities,  you  have  been  able  to  strike  up  an 
acquaintance  with  some  gentleman  or  other,  so  as  to  make  a 
suitable  match.     You  see,  my  dear  Berta,  marriage  is  a  thing 

291 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

which,  once  carried  out,  fixes  you  more  firm  in  a  position 
than  any  personal  brains  can  do ;  for  as  you  stand  at  present, 
every  loose  tooth,  and  every  combed-out  hair,  and  every  new 
wrinkle,  and  every  sleepless  night,  is  so  much  took  away  from 
your  chance  for  the  future,  depending  as  it  do  upon  your  skill 
in  charming.  I  know  that  you  have  had  some  good  offers,  so 
do  listen  to  me,  and  warm  up  the  best  man  of  them  again  a 
bit,  and  get  him  to  repeat  his  words  before  your  roundness 
shrinks  away,  and  'tis  too  late. 

Mr.  Lady  well  has  called  here  to  see  you;  it  was  just  after 
I  had  heard  that  this  Menlove  might  do  harm,  so  I  thought  I 
could  do  no  better  than  send  down  word  to  him  that  you 
would  much  like  to  see  him,  and  were  wondering  sadly  why 
he  had  not  called  lately.  I  gave  him  your  address  at  Rouen, 
that  he  might  find  you,  if  he  chose,  at  once,  and  be  got  to 
propose,  since  he  is  better  than  nobody.  I  believe  he  said, 
directly  Joey  gave  him  the  address,  that  he  was  going  abroad, 
and  my  opinion  is  that  he  will  come  to  you,  because  of  the 
encouragement  I  gave  him.  If  so,  you  must  thank  me  for 
my  foresight  and  care  for  you. 

I  heave  a  sigh  of  relief  sometimes  at  the  thought  that  I, 
at  any  rate,  found  a  husband  before  the  present  man-famine 
began.  Don't  refuse  him  this  time,  there's  a  dear,  or,  mark 
my  words,  you'll  have  cause  to  rue  it — unless  you  have  before- 
hand got  engaged  to  somebody  better  than  he.  You  will  not 
if  you  have  not  already,  for  the  exposure  is  sure  to  come 
soon. 

*  O,  this  false  position ! — it  is  ruining  your  nature, 
my  too  thoughtful  mother !  But  I  v^ill  not  accept  any 
of  them — I'll  brazen  it  out !  *  said  Ethelberta,  throwing 
the  letter  v^herever  it  chose  to  fly,  and  picking  it  up  to 
read  again.  She  stood  and  thought  it  all  over.  '  I 
must  decide  to  do  something !  *  was  her  sigh  again  ; 
and,  feeling  an  irresistible  need  of  motion,  she  put  on 
'  her  things  and  went  out  to  see  what  resolve  the  morning 
would  bring. 

No  rain  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and  the  air  was 
now  quiet  in  a  warm  heavy  fog,  through  which  old 
cider-smells,  reminding  her  of  Wessex,  occasionally 
came  from  narrow  streets  in  the  backo^round.  Ethel- 
berta  passed  up  the  Rue  Grand- Pont  into  the  little 
dusky  Rue  Saint- Romain,  behind  the  cathedral,  being 

292 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

driven  mechanically  along  by  the  fever  and  fret  of  her 
thoughts.  She  was  about  to  enter  the  building  by  the 
transept  door,  when  she  saw  Lord  IMountclere  coming 
towards  her. 

Ethelberta  felt  equal  to  him,  or  a  dozen  such,  this 
morning.  The  looming  spectres  raised  by  her  mother's 
information,  the  wearing  sense  of  being  over-weighted 
in  the  race,  were  driving  her  to  a  Hamlet-like  fan- 
tasticism  and  defiance  of  augury ;  moreover,  she  was 
abroad. 

'  I  am  about  to  ascend  to  the  parapets  of  the  cathe- 
dral,' said  she,  in  answer  to  a  half  inquiry. 

'I  should  be  delighted  to  accompany  you,'  he  re- 
joined, in  a  manner  as  capable  of  explanation  by  his 
knowledge  of  her  secret  as  was  Ethelberta's  manner 
by  her  sense  of  nearing  the  end  of  her  maying.     But 
whether   this   frequent    glide    into    her    company   was 
meant  as  ephemeral  flirtation,  to  fill  the  half-hours  of 
his  journey,  or  whether  it  meant  a  serious  love-suit — 
which  were  the  only  alternatives  that  had  occurred  to 
her  on  the  subject — did  not  trouble  her  now.      '  I  am 
bound  to  be  civil  to  so  great  a  lord,'  she  lighdy  thought, 
and  expressing  no  objection  to  his  presence,  she  passed 
with  him  through  the  outbuildings,  containing  Gothic 
lumber  from   the   shadowy  pile   above,   and   ascended 
the  stone  staircase.      Emerg^inor  from  its  windings,  thev 
duly  came  to  the  long  wooden   ladder   suspended   in 
mid-air  that  led   to  the  parapet  of   the  tower.     This 
being  wide  enough  for  two  abreast,  she  could  hardly 
do  otherwise  than  wait  a  moment  for  the  viscount,  who 
up  to  this  point  had  never  faltered,  and  who  amused  , 
her  as  they  went  by  scraps  of  his  experience  in  various 
countries,  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  told  with  vivacity 
and  humour.     Thus  they  reached  the  end  of  the  flight, 
and  entered  behind  a  balustrade. 

'  The  prospect  will  be  very  lovely  from  this  point 
when  the  fog  has  blown  off,'  siid  Lord  Mountclere 
faintly,  for  climbing  and  chattering  at  the  same  time 
had  fairly  taken  away  his  breath.     He  leant  against 

293 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  masonary  to  rest  himself.     *  The  air  is  clearing 
already ;   I  fancy  I  saw  a  sunbeam  or  two.' 

*  It  will  be  lovelier  above,'  said  Ethelberta.  *  Let 
us  go  to  the  platform  at  the  base  of  xh^flhke,  and  wait 
for  a  view  there.' 

'With  all  my  heart,'  said  her  attentive  companion. 

They  passed  in  at  a  door  and  up  some  more  stone 
steps,  which  landed  them  finally  in  the  upper  chamber 
of  the  tower.  Lord  Mountclere  sank  on  a  beam,  and 
asked  smilingly  if  her  ambition  was  not  satisfied  with 
this  goal.  *  I  recollect  going  to  the  top  some  years 
ago,'  he  added,  *  and  it  did  not  occur  to  me  as  being  a 
thing  worth  doing  a  second  time.  And  there  was  no 
fog  then,  either.' 

'  O,'  said  Ethelberta,  '  it  is  one  of  the  most  splendid 
things  a  person  can  do !  The  fog  is  going  fast,  and 
everybody  with  the  least  artistic  feeling  in  the  direction 
of  bird's-eye  views  makes  the  ascent  every  time  of 
cominor  here.' 

'  Of  course,  of  course,'  said  Lord  Mountclere. 
'  And  I  am  only  too  happy  to  go  to  any  height  with 
you.' 

'  Since  you  so  kindly  offer,  we  will  go  to  the  very 
top  of  the  spire — up  through  the  fog  and  into  the 
sunshine,'  said  Ethelberta. 

Lord  Mountclere  covered  a  grim  misgiving  by  a 
gay  smile,  and  away  they  went  up  a  ladder  admitting 
to  the  base  of  the  huge  iron  framework  above  ;  then 
they  entered  upon  the  regular  ascent  of  the  cage, 
towards  the  hoped-for  celestial  blue,  and  among  breezes 
which  never  descended  so  low  as  the  town.  The 
journey  was  enlivened  with  more  breathless  witticisms 
from  Lord  Mountclere,  till  she  stepped  ahead  of  him 
again  ;  when  he  asked  how  many  more  steps  there 
were. 

She  inquired  of  the  man  in  the  blue  blouse  who 
accompanied  them.  *  Fifty-five,'  she  returned  to  Lord 
iMountclere  a  moment  later. 

They  went  round,  and  round,  and  yet  around. 

294 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'  How  many  are  there  now?'  Lord  Mountclere  de- 
manded this  time  of  the  man. 

'A  hundred  and  ninety,  Monsieur/  he  said. 

*  But  there  were  only  tifty-hve  ever  so  long  ago ! ' 
'Two    hundred    and    five,    then,'    said    the    man 

*  Perhaps   the   mist   prevented    Mademoiselle   hearing 
me  distinctly  ? ' 

*  Never  mind  :  I  would  follow  were  there  five 
thousand  more,  did  Mademoiselle  bid  me  I '  said  the 
exhausted  nobleman  gallantly,  in  English. 

'  Hush ! '  said  Ethelberta,  with  displeasure. 

*  He  doesn't  understand  a  w^ord,'  said  Lord  Mount- 
clere. 

They  paced  the  remainder  of  their  spiral  pathway 
in  silence,  and  having  at  last  reached  the  summit, 
Lord  Mountclere  sank  down  on  one  of  the  steps,  pant- 
ing out,  '  Dear  me,  dear  me  ! ' 

Ethelberta  leaned  and  looked  around,  and  said, 
'  How  extraordinary  this  is.  It  is  sky  above,  below, 
everywhere.' 

He  dragged  himself  together  and  stepped  to  her 
side.  They  formed  as  it  were  a  little  world  to  them- 
selves, being  completely  ensphered  by  the  fog,  which 
here  was  dense  as  a  sea  of  milk.  Below  was  neither 
town,  country,  nor  cathedral — simply  whiteness,  into 
w^hich  the  iron  legs  of  their  gigantic  perch  faded  to 
nothing. 

*  We  have  lost  our  labour ;  there  is  no  prospect 
for  you,  after  all.  Lord  Mountclere,'  said  Ethelberta, 
turning  her  eyes  upon  him.  He  looked  at  her  face  as 
if  there  were,  and  she  continued,  '  Listen  ;  I  hear 
sounds  from  the  town  :  people's  voices,  and  carts,  and 
dogs,  and  the  noise  of  a  railway-train.  Shall  we  now 
descend,  and  own  ourselves  disappointed  ? ' 

'Whenever  you  choose.' 

Before  they  had  put  their  intention  in  practice  there 
appeared  to  be  reasons  for  waiting  awhile.  Out  of  the 
plain  of  fog  beneath  a  stone  tooth  seemed  to  be  upheav- 
ing itself :  then  another  showed  forth.     These  were  the 

295 


THE   HAxND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

summits  of  the  St.  Romain  and  the  Butter  Towers 
— at  the  western  end  of  the  building.  As  the  fog 
stratum  collapsed  other  summits  manifested  their 
presence  further  off — among  them  the  two  spires  and 
lantern  of  St.  Ouen's  ;  when  to  the  left  the  dome  of 
St.  Madeleine's  caught  a  first  ray  from  the  peering  sun, 
under  which  its  scaK^  surface  ^littered  like  a  fish. 
Then  the  mist  rolled  off  in  earnest,  and  revealed  far 
beneath  them  a  whole  city,  its  red,  blue,  and  grey  roofs 
forming  a  variegated  pattern,  small  and  subdued  as 
that  of  a  pavement  in  mosaic.  Eastward  in  the  spacious 
outlook  lay  the  hill  of  St.  Catherine,  breaking  in- 
trusivelv  into  the  larcre  level  vallev  of  the  Seine  ;  south 
was  the  river  which  had  been  the  parent  of  the  mist, 
and  the  He  Lacroix,  gorgeous  in  scarlet,  purple,  and 
green.  On  the  western  horizon  could  be  dimly  dis- 
cerned melancholy  forests,  and  further  to  the  right 
stood  the  hill  and  rich  ofroves  of  Boiso^uillaume. 

Ethelberta  havino-  now  done  lookinor  around,  the 
descent  was  bes^un  and  continued  without  intermission 
till  they  came  to  the  passage  behind  the  parapet. 

Ethelberta  was  about  to  step  airily  forward,  when 
there  reached  her  ear  the  voices  of  persons  below. 
She  recognized  as  one  of  them  the  slow  unaccented 
tones  of  Xeiorh. 

*  Please  wait  a  minute  ! '  she  said  in  a  peremptory 
manner  of  confusion  sufficient  to  attract  Lord  IMount- 
clere's  attention. 

A  recollection  had  sprung  to  her  mind  In  a  moment. 
She  had  half  made  an  appointment  with  Neigh  at 
her  aunt's  hotel  for  this  verv  week,  and  here  was  he 
in  Rouen  to  keep  it.  To  meet  him  while  indulging 
in  this  vagary  with  Lord  Mountclere — which,  now 
that  the  mood  it  had  been  engendered  by  was  passing 
off,  she  somewhat  regretted — would  be  the  height  of 
imprudence. 

'  I  should  like  to  go  round  to  the  other  side  of  the 
parapet  for  a  few  moments,'  she  said,  with  decisive 
quickness.     *  Come  with  me.  Lord  Mountclere.' 

296 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

They  went  round  to  the  other  side.  Here  she 
kept  the  viscount  and  their  suisse  until  she  deemed  it 
probable  that  Neigh  had  passed  by,  when  she  returned 
with  her  companions  and  descended  to  the  bottom. 
They  emerged  into  the  Rue  Saint- Romain,  whereupon 
a  woman  called  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  way  to 
their  guide,  stating  that  she  had  told  the  other 
English  gendeman  that  the  English  lady  had  gone 
into  xh^flecke. 

Ethelberta  turned  and  looked  up.  She  could  just 
discern  Neigh's  form  upon  the  steps  of  the  flee  he 
above,  ascending  toilsomely  in  search  of  her. 

'What  English  gendeman  could  that  have  been  .^ ' 
said  Lord  Mountclere,  after  paying  the  man.  He 
spoke  in  a  way  which  showed  he  had  not  overlooked 
her  confusion.  '  It  seems  that  he  must  have  been 
searching  for  us,  or  rather  for  you  ? ' 

'Only  Mr.  Neigh,'  said  Ethelberta.  'He  told  me 
he  was  coming  here.  I  believe  he  is  waiting  for  an 
interview  with  me.' 

'  H'm,'  said  Lord  Mountclere. 

*  Business — only  business,'  said  she. 

*  Shall  I  leave  you }  Perhaps  the  business  is 
important — most  important.' 

*  Unfortunately  it  is.' 

*  You  must  forgive  me  this  once  :  I  cannot  help — 
will  you  give  me  permission  to  make  a  difficult  re- 
mark ? '  said  Lord  Mountclere,  in  an  impatient  voice. 

'  With  pleasure.' 

'Well,  then,  the  business  I  meant  was — an  en- 
gagement to  be  married.' 

Had  it  been  possible  for  a  woman  to  be  perpetually 
on  the  alert  she  might  now  have  supposed  that  Lord 
Mountclere  knew  all  about  her  ;  a  mechanical  deference 
must  have  restrained  such  an  allusion  had  he  seen  her 
in  any  other  light  than  that  of  a  distracting  slave. 
But  she  answered  quietly,  '  So  did  I.' 

*  But  how  does  he  know — dear  me,  dear  me !  I 
beg  pardon,'  said  the  viscount. 

297 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  as  if  to  imply  that  he 
was  seriously  out  of  his  reckoning  in  respect  of  her  if 
he  supposed  that  he  would  be  allowed  to  continue  this 
little  play  at  love-making  as  long  as  he  chose,  when 
she  was  offered  the  position  of  wife  by  a  man  so  good 
as  Neigh. 

They  stood  in  silence  side  by  side  till,  much  to  her 
ease,  Cornelia  appeared  at  the  corner  waiting.  At 
the  last  moment  he  said,  in  somewhat  agitated  tones, 
and  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  renewal  of  the  respect 
which  had  been  imperceptibly  dropped  since  they 
crossed  the  Channel,  '  I  was  not  aware  of  your  engage- 
ment to  Mr.  Neigh.  I  fear  I  have  been  acting  mis- 
takenly on  that  account.* 

*  There  is  no  engagement  as  yet,'  said  she. 

Lord  Mountclere  brightened  like  a  child.  '  Then 
may  I  have  a  few  words  in  private ' 

'Not  now — not  to-day,'  said  Ethelberta,  with  a 
certain  irritation  at  she  knew  not  what.  '  Believe  me, 
Lord  Mountclere,  you  are  mistaken  in  many  things. 
I  mean,  you  think  more  of  me  than  you  ought.  A 
time  will  come  when  you  will  despise  me  for  this  day's 
work,  and  it  is  madness  in  you  to  go  further.' 

Lord  Mountclere,  knowing  what  he  did  know,  may 
have  imagined  what  she  referred  to  ;  but  Ethelberta 
was  without  the  least  proof  that  he  had  the  key  to  her 
humour.  'Well,  well,  I'll  be  responsible  for  the  mad- 
ness,' he  said.  '  I  know  you  to  be — a  famous  woman, 
at  all  events  ;  and  that's  enough.  I  would  say  more, 
but  I  cannot  here.      May  I  call  upon  you  ?  ' 

'  Not  now.' 

'  When  shall  I  ?  * 

*  If  you  must,  let  it  be  a  month  hence  at  my 
house  in  town,'  she  said  indifferently,  the  Hamlet  mood 
being  still  upon  her.  '  Yes,  call  upon  us  then,  and  I 
will  tell  you  everything  that  may  remain  to  be 
told,  if  you  should  be  inclined  to  listen.  A  rumour 
is  afloat  which  will  undeceive  you  in  much,  and 
depress  me  to  death.      And   now  I   will  walk  back  : 

298 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

pray  excuse  me.'     She  entered  the  street,  and  joined 
Cornelia. 

Lord  Mountclere  paced  irregularly  along,  turned 
the  corner,  and  went  towards  his  inn,  nearing  which 
his  tread  grew  lighter,  till  he  scarcely  seemed  to  touch 
the  ground.  He  became  gleeful,  and  said  to  himself, 
nervously  palming  his  hip  with  his  left  hand,  as  if 
previous  to  plunging  it  into  hot  water  for  some  prize  : 
'Upon  my  Hfe  I've  a  good  mind!  Upon  my  life  I 
have !  ....  I  must  make  a  straightforward  thing  of 
it,  and  at  once  ;  or  he  will  have  her.  But  he  shall 
not,  and  I  will — hee-hee  ! ' 

The  fascinated  man,  screaming  inwardly  with  the 
excitement,  glee,  and  agony  of  his  position,  entered  the 
hotel,  wrote  a  hasty  note  to  Ethelbertaand  despatched 
it  by  hand,  looked  to  his  dress  and  appearance, 
ordered  a  carriage,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was 
being  driven  towards  the  Hotel  Beau  Sdjour,  whither 
his  note  had  preceded  him. 


THE  HOTEL  {continue^ 
AND  THE  QUAY  IN  FRONT 

XXXV 

Ethelberta,  having  arrived  there  some  time  earlier, 
had  gone  straight  to  her  aunt,  whom  she  found  sitting 
behind  a  large  ledger  in  the  office,  making  up  the 
accounts  with  her  husband,  a  well-framed  reflective 
man  with  a  grey  beard.  M.  Moulin  bustled,  waited 
for  her  remarks  and  replies,  and  made  much  of  her  in 
a  general  way,  when  Ethelberta  said,  what  she  had 
wanted  to  say  instantly,  '  Has  a  gentleman  called  Mr. 
Neigh  been  here  ?' 

*0  yes — I  think  it  is  Neigh — there's  a  card 
upstairs,*  replied  her  aunt.  '  I  told  him  you  were 
alone  at  the  cathedral,  and  I  believe  he  walked  that 
way.  Besides  that  one,  another  has  come  for  you — a 
Mr.  Lady  well,  and  he  is  waiting.' 

'  Not  for  me  ? ' 

'  Yes,  indeed.  I  thought  he  seemed  so  anxious, 
under  a  sort  of  assumed  calmness,  that  I  recommended 
him  to  remain  till  you  came  in.' 

'Goodness,  aunt;  why  did  you.'^'  Ethelberta  said, 
and  thoucrht  how  much  her  mother's  sister  resembled 
her  mother  in  doings  of  that  sort. 

'  I  thought  he  had  some  good  reason  for  seeing 
you.     Are  these  men  intruders,  then  ? ' 

*  O  no — a  woman  who  attempts  a  public  career 
must  expect  to  be  treated  as  public  property  :    what 

300 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

would  be  an  intrusion  on  a  domiciled  gendewoman  is 
a  tribute  to  me.  You  cannot  have  celebrity  and  sex- 
privilege  both.'  Thus  Ethelberta  laughed  off  the 
awkward  conjuncture,  inwardly  deploring  the  uncon- 
scionable maternal  meddling  which  had  led  to  this, 
though  not  resentfully,  for  she  had  too  much  staunch- 
ness of  heart  to  decry  a  parent's  misdirected  zeal. 
Had  the  clanship  feeling  been  universally  as  strong  as 
in  the  Chickerel  family,  the  fable  of  the  well-bonded 
fagot  might  have  remained  unwritten. 

Ladywell  had  sent  her  a  letter  about  getting  his 
picture  of  herself  engraved  for  an  illustrated  paper,  and 
she  had  not  replied,  considering  that  she  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  mictter,  her  form  and  feature  having 
been  given  in  the  painting  as  no  portrait  at  all,  but 
as  those  of  an  ideal.  To  see  him  now  would  be 
vexatious;  and  yet  it  was  chilly  and  formal  to  an 
ungenerous  degree  to  keep  aloof  from  him,  sitting 
lonely  in  the  same  house.  *  A  few  weeks  hence,'  she 
thought,  'when  Menlove's  disclosures  make  me 
ridiculous,  he  may  slight  me  as  a  lackey's  girl,  an 
upstart,  an  adventuress,  and  hardly  return  my  bow  in 
the  street.  Then  I  may  wish  I  had  given  him  no 
personal  cause  for  additional  bitterness.'  So,  putting 
off  the  fine  lady,  Ethelberta  thought  she  would  see 
Ladywell  at  once. 

Ladywell  was  unaffectedly  glad  to  meet  her;  so 
glad,  that  Ethelberta  wished  heartily,  for  his  sake, 
there  could  be  warm  friendship  between  herself  and 
him,  as  well  as  all  her  lovers,  without  that  insistent 
courtship-and-marrlage  question,  which  sent  them  all 
scattering  like  leaves  in  a  pestilent  blast,  at  enmity 
with  one  another.  She  was  less  pleased  when  she 
found  that  Ladywell,  after  saying  all  there  was  to  say 
about  his  painting,  gently  signified  that  he  had  been 
misinformed,  as  he  believed,  concerning  her  future  in- 
tentions, which  had  led  to  his  absenting  himself  entirely 
from  her ;  the  remark  being,  of  course,  a  natural 
product  of  her  mother's  injudicious  message  to  him. 

301 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

She  cut  him  short  with  terse  candour.  'Yes,'  she 
said,  *a  false  report  is  in  circulation.  I  am  not  yet 
engaged  to  be  married  to  any  one,  if  that  is  your 
meaning.' 

Ladywell  looked  cheerful  at  this  frank  answer,  and 
said  tentatively,  '  Am  I  forgotten  ?  ' 

*  No  ;  you  are  exactly  as  you  always  were  in  my 
mind.' 

*  Then  I  have  been  cruelly  deceived.  I  was 
guided  too  much  by  appearances,  and  they  were  very 
delusive.  I  am  beyond  measure  glad  I  came  here  to- 
day. I  called  at  your  house  and  learnt  that  you  were 
here ;  and  as  I  was  going  out  of  town,  in  any 
indefinite  direction,  I  settled  then  to  come  this  way. 
What  a  happy  Idea  it  was !  To  think  of  you  now — 
and  I  may  be  permitted  to ' 

*  Assuredly  you  may  not.  How  many  times  1 
have  told  you  that ! ' 

*  But  I  do  not  wish  for  any  formal  engagement,' 
said  Ladywell  quickly,  fearing  she  might  commit 
herself  to  some  expression  of  positive  denial,  which  he 
could  never  surmount.  *  I'll  wait — I'll  wait  any  length 
of  time.  Remember,  you  have  never  absolutely  for- 
bidden my — friendship.  Will  you  delay  your  answer 
till  some  time  hence,  when  you  have  thoroughly 
considered  ;  since  I  fear  it  may  be  a  hasty  one  now  ? ' 

*  Yes,  Indeed  ;  it  may  be  hasty.' 

*  You  will  delay  it  ?  ' 
*Yes.' 

'When  shall  it  be?' 

'  Say  a  month  hence.  I  suggest  that,  because  by 
that  time  you  will  have  found  an  answer  in  your  own 
mind  :  strange  things  may  happen  before  then.  "  She 
shall  follow  after  her  lovers,  but  she  shall  not  overtake 
them  ;  and  she  shall  seek  them,  but  shall  not  find 
them  ;  then  shall  she  say,  I  will  go  and  return  to  my 
first" — however,  that's  no  matter.' 

'  What — did  you ? '  Ladywell  began,  altogether 

bewildered  by  this. 

^02 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  It  is  a  passage  in  Hosea  which  came  to  my  mind, 
as  possibly  applicable  to  myself  some  day,'  she 
answered.      *  It  was  mere  impulse.' 

'  Ha-ha  ! — a  jest — one  of  your  romances  broken 
loose.  There  is  no  law  for  impulse  :  that  is  why  I 
am  here.' 

Thus  fancifully  they  conversed  till  the  interview 
concluded.  Getting  her  to  promise  that  she  would 
see  him  again,  Ladywell  retired  to  a  sitting-room  on 
the  same  landinor  in  which  he  had  been  writine  letters 
before  she  came  up.  Immediately  upon  this  her  aunt, 
who  began  to  suspect  that  something  peculiar  was  in 
the  wind,  came  to  tell  her  that  Mr.  Neigh  had  been 
inquiring  for  her  again. 

'  Send  him  in,'  said  Ethelberta. 

Neigh's  footsteps  approached,  and  the  well-known 
figure  entered.  Ethelberta  received  him  smilingly,  for 
she  was  getting  so  used  to  awkward  juxtapositions  that 
she  treated  them  quite  as  a  natural  situation.  She 
merely  hoped  that  Ladywell  would  not  hear  them 
talking  through  the  partition. 

Neigh  scarcely  said  anything  as  a  beginning  :  she 
knew  his  errand  perfectly  ;  and  unaccountable  as  it 
w^as  to  her,  the  strange  and  unceremonious  relationship 
between  them,  that  had  originated  in  the  peculiar 
conditions  of  their  first  close  meeting,  was  continued 
now  as  usual. 

*  Have  you  been  able  to  bestow  a  thought  on  the 
question  between  us  }     I  hope  so,'  said  Neigh. 

'It  is  no  use,'  said  Ethelberta.  'Wait  a  month, 
and  you  will  not  require  an  answer.  You  will  not 
mind  speaking  low,  because  of  a  person  in  the  next 
room  ? ' 

'  Not  at  all. — Why  will  that  be  ?  ' 

*  I  might  say  ;  but  let  us  speak  of  something  else.' 

*  I  don't  see  how  we  can,'  said  Neigh  brusquely. 
*  I  had  no  other  reason  on  earth  for  calling  here. 
I  wished  to  get  the  matter  settled,  and  I  could  not 
be  satisfied  without  seeing  you.      I    hate  writing   on 

303 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

matters  of  this  sort.  In  fact  I  can't  do  it,  and  that's 
why  I  am  here.' 

He  was  still  speaking  when  an  attendant  entered 
with  a  note. 

'Will  you  excuse  me  one  moment?'  said  Ethel- 
berta,  stepping  to  the  window  and  opening  the  missive, 
It  contained  these  words  only,  in  a  scrawl  so  full  of 
deformities  that  she  could  hardly  piece  its  meaning 
together  : — 

I  must  see  you  again  to-day  unless  you  absolutely  deny 
yourself  to  me,  which  I  shall  take  as  a  refusal  to  meet  me 
any  more.  I  will  arrive,  punctually,  five  minutes  after  you 
receive  this  note.  Do  pray  be  alone  if  you  can,  and  eternally 
gratify, — Yours,  MOUNTCLERE. 

*  If  anything  has  happened  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
wait,'  said  Neigh,  seeing  her  concern  when  she  had 
closed  the  note. 

'O  no,  it  is  nothing,'  said  Ethelberta  precipitately. 
*  Yet  I  think  I  will  ask  you  to  wait,'  she  added,  not 
liking  to  dismiss  Neigh  in  a  hurry  ;  for  she  was  not 
insensible  to  his  perseverance  in  seeking  her  over  all 
these  miles  of  sea  and  land  ;  and  secondly,  she  feared 
that  if  he  w^ere  to  leave  on  the  instant  he  miofht  run 
into  the  arms  of  Lord  Mountclere  and  Ladywell. 

*  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  stay  till  you  are  at 
leisure,'  said  Neigh,  in  the  unimpassioned  delivery 
he  used  whether  his  meaning  were  a  trite  compliment 
or  the  expression  of  his  most  earnest  feeling. 

'  I  may  be  rather  a  long  time,'  said  Ethelberta 
dubiously. 

'  My  time  is  yours.' 

Ethelberta  left  the  room  and  hurried  to  her  aunt, 
exclaiming,  '  O,  Aunt  Charlotte,  I  hope  you  have 
rooms  enough  to  spare  for  my  visitors,  for  they  are 
like  the  fox,  the  goose,  and  the  corn,  in  the  riddle  ; 
I  cannot  leave  them  together,  and  I  can  only  be  with 
one  at  a  time.  I  want  the  nicest  drawing-room  you 
have   for  an   interview  of  a  bare  'two  minutes   with 

304 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

an  old  gentleman.  I  am  so  sorry  this  has  happened, 
but  it  is  not  altogether  my  fault!  I  only  arranged 
to  see  one  of  them  ;  but  the  other  was  sent  to  me 
by  mother,  in  a  mistake,  and  the  third  met  with  me 
on  my  journey :  that's  the  explanation.  There's  the 
oldest  of  them  just  come.' 

She  looked  through  the  glass  partition,  and  under 
the  arch  of  the  court -gate,  as  the  wheels  of  the 
viscount's  carriage  were  heard  outside.  Ethelberta 
ascended  to  a  room  on  the  first  floor.  Lord  Mount- 
clere  was  shown  up,  and  the  door  closed  upon  them. 

At  this  time  Neigh  was  very  comfortably  lounging 
in  an  arm-chair  in  Ethelberta's  room  on  the  second 
floor.  This  was  a  pleasant  enough  way  of  passing 
the  minutes  with  such  a  tender  interview  in  prospect ; 
and  as  he  leant  he  looked  with  languid  and  luxurious 
interest  through  the  open  casement  at  the  spars  and 
rigging  of  some  luggers  on  the  Seine,  the  pillars  of 
the  suspension  bridge,  and  the  scenery  of  the  Faubourg 
St.  Sever  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  How  languid 
his  interest  might  ultimately  have  become  there  is  no 
knowing  ;  but  there  soon  arose  upon  his  ear  the 
accents  of  Ethelberta  in  low  distinctness  from  some- 
where outside  the  room. 

'Yes;  the  scene  is  pleasant  to-day,' she  said.  *I 
like  a  view  over  a  river.' 

*  I  should  think  the  steamboats  are  objectionable 
when  they  stop  here,'  said  another  person. 

Neigh's  face  closed  in  to  an  aspect  of  perplexity. 
*  Surely  that  cannot  be  Lord  Mountclere  ?  '  he  muttered. 

Had  he  been  certain  that  Ethelberta  was  only 
talking  to  a  stranger.  Neigh  would  probably  have 
felt  their  conversation  to  be  no  business  of  his,  much 
as  he  might  have  been  surprised  to  find  her  giving 
audience  to  another  man  at  such  a  place.  But  his 
impression  that  the  voice  was  that  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, Lord  Mountclere,  coupled  with  doubts  as  to  its 
possibility,  was  enough  to  lead  him  to  rise  from  the 
chair  and  put  his  head  out  of  the  window. 

305 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Upon  a  balcony  beneath  him  were  the  speakers,  as 
he  had  suspected — Ethelberta  and  the  viscount. 

Looking  right  and  left,  he  saw  projecting  from  the 
next  window  the  head  of  his  friend  Ladywell,  gazing 
right  and  left  likewise,  apparently  just  drawn  out  by 
the  same  voice  which  had  attracted  himself. 

'What — you.  Neigh! — how  strange,'  came  from 
Ladywell's  lips  before  he  had  time  to  recollect  that 
great  coolness  existed  between  himself  and  Neigh  on 
Ethelberta's  account,  which  had  led  to  the  reduction 
of  their  intimacy  to  the  most  attenuated  of  nods  and 
good-mornings  ever  since  the  Harlequin-rose  incident 
at  Cripplegate. 

*  Yes  ;  it  is  rather  strange,'  said  Neigh,  with 
saturnine  evenness.  *  Still  a  fellow  must  be  some- 
where.' 

Each  then  looked  over  his  window-sill  downwards, 
upon  the  speakers  who  had  attracted  them  thither. 

Lord  Mountclere  uttered  somethinof  in  a  low  tone 
which  did  not  reach  the  young  men  ;  to  which  Ethel- 
berta replied,  '  As  I  have  said,  Lord  Mountclere,  I 
cannot  give  you  an  answer  now.  I  must  consider 
what  to  do  with  Mr.  Neigh  and  Mr.  Ladywell.  It  is 
too  sudden  for  me  to  decide  at  once.  I  could  not  do 
so  until  I  have  got  home  to  England,  when  I  will 
write  you  a  letter,  stating  frankly  my  affairs  and  those 
of  my  relatives.  I  shall  not  consider  that  you  have 
addressed  me  on  the  subject  of  marriage  until,  having 
received  my  letter,  you ' 

*  Repeat  my  proposal,'  said  Lord  Mountclere. 
'Yes.' 

'  My  dear  Mrs.  Petherwin,  it  is  as  good  as 
repeated !  But  I  have  no  right  to  assume  anything 
you  don't  wish  me  to  assume,  and  I  will  wait.  How 
lonof  is  it  that  I  am  to  suffer  in  this  uncertaintv  ? ' 

*A  month.  By  that  time  I  shall  have  giown 
weary  of  my  other  two  suitors  perhaps.' 

*  A  month  !      Really  inflexible  ? ' 

Ethelberta  had  returned   inside   the  window,  and 

306 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

her  answer  was  inaudible.  Ladywell  and  Neigh 
looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met.  Both  had  been 
reluctant  to  remain  where  they  stood,  but  they  were 
too  fascinated  to  retire  ins:antlv.  Nelorh  moved  now, 
and  Ladywell  did  the  same.  Each  saw  that  the  face 
of  his  companion  was  flushed. 

'Come  in  and  see  me,'  said  Ladywell  quickly, 
before  quite  withdrawing  his  head.  *  I  am  staying 
in  this  room.' 

*I  will,'  said  Neigh;  and  taking  his  hat  he  left 
Ethelberta's  apartment  forthwith. 

On  entering  the  quarters  of  his  friend  he  found 
him  seated  at  a  table  whereon  writing  materials  were 
strewn.  They  shook  hands  in  silence,  but  the  meaning 
in  their  looks  was  enouofh. 

'Just  let  me  write  a  note,  Ladywell,  and  I'm  your 
man,'  said  Neigh  then,  with  the  freedom  of  an  old 
acquaintance. 

*  I  was  going  to  do  the  same  thing,'  said  Lady- 
well. 

Neigh  then  sat  down,  and  for  a  minute  or  two 
nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  scratching  of  a  pair 
of  pens,  ending  on  the  one  side  with  a  more  boisterous 
scratch,  as  the  writer  shaped  '  Eustace  Ladywell,'  and 
on  the  other  with  slow  firmness  In  the  characters, 
'Alfred  Neigh.' 

'There's  for  you,  my  fair  one,'  said  Neigh,  closing 
and  directlnor  his  letter. 

'  Yours  is  for  Mrs.  Petherwin  ?  So  is  mine,'  said 
Ladywell,  grasping  the  bell-pull.  '  Shall  I  direct  It  to 
be  put  on  her  table  with  this  one  ? ' 

'  Thanks.'  And  the  two  letters  went  off  to  Ethel- 
berta's sitting-room,  which  she  had  vacated  to  receive 
Lord  Mountclere  in  an  empty  one  beneath.  Neigh's 
letter  was  simply  a  pleading  of  a  sudden  call  away 
which  prevented  his  waiting  till  she  should  return ; 
Ladywell's,  though  stating  the  same  reason  for  leaving, 
was  more  of  an  upbraiding  nature,  and  might  almost 
have  told  its  reader,  were  she  to  take  the  trouble  to 

307 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

guess,  that  he  knew  of  the  business  of  Lord  ]Mount- 
clere  with  her  to-day. 

*  Now,  let  us  get  out  of  this  place,'  said  Neigh. 
He  proceeded  at  once  down  the  stairs,  followed  by 
Ladywell,  who — settling  his  account  at  the  bureau 
without  calling  for  a  bill,  and  directing  his  portmanteau 
to  be  sent  to  the  Right-bank  railway  station — went 
with  Neigh  into  the  street. 

They  had  not  walked  fifty  yards  up  the  quay  when 
two  British  workmen,  in  holiday  costume,  who  had  just 
turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc,  approached 
them.  Seeing  him  to  be  an  Englishman,  one  of  the 
two  addressed  Neigh,  saying,  *  Can  you  tell  us  the 
way,  sir,  to  the  Hotel  Bold  Soldier? ' 

Neigh  pointed  out  the  place  he  had  just  come  from 
to  the  tall  young  men,  and  continued  his  walk  with 
Ladywell. 

Ladywell  was  the  first  to  break  silence.  *  I  have 
been  considerably  misled.  Neigh,'  he  said;  'and  I 
imagine  from  what  has  just  happened  that  you  have 
been  misled  too.' 

'  Just  a  little,'  said  Neigh,  bringing  abstracted  lines 
of  meditation  Into  his  face.  '  But  it  was  my  own  fault : 
for  I  ought  to  have  known  that  these  stage  and 
platform  women  have  what  they  are  pleased  to  call 
Bohemlanism  so  thoroughly  engrained  with  their 
natures  that  they  are  no  more  constant  to  usage  In 
their  sentiments  than  they  are  in  their  way  of  living. 
Good  Lord,  to  think  she  has  caught  old  Mountclere ! 
She  is  sure  to  have  him  if  she  does  not  dally  with  him 
so  long  that  he  gets  cool  again.' 

•  A  beautiful  creature  like  her  to  think  of  msirrymg 
such  an  Infatuated  Idiot  as  he ! ' 

'  He  can  give  her  a  title  as  well  as  younger  men. 
It  will  not  be  the  first  time  that  such  matches  have 
been  made.' 

'  I  can't  believe  it,'  said  Ladywell  vehemently. 
*  She  has  too  much  poetry  in  her — too  much  good 
sense  ;  her  nature  is  the  essence  of  all  that's  romantic. 

308 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

I   can't  help   saying  it,  though  she  has    treated    me 
cruelly.' 

*  She  has  good  looks,  certainly.  I'll  own  to  that. 
As  for  her  romance  and  good-feeling,  that  I  leave  to 
you.  I  think  she  has  treated  you  no  more  cruelly,  as 
you  call  it,  than  she  has  me,  come  to  that.' 

'  She  told  me  she  would  give  me  an  answer  in  a 
month,'  said  Lady  well  emotionally. 
'  So  she  told  me,'  said  Xeigh. 

*  And  so  she  told  him,'  said  Lady  well. 

*  And  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  keep  her  word  to 
him  in  her  usual  precise  manner.' 

*  But  see  what  she  implied  to  me !  I  distinctly 
understood  from  her  that  the  answer  would  be  favour- 
able.' 

'So  did  I.' 

'  So  does  he.' 

'  And  he  is  sure  to  be  the  one  who  gets  it,  since 
only  one  of  us  can.  Well,  I  wouldn't  marry  her  for 
love,  money,  nor ' 

*  Offspring.' 

*  Exactly:  I  would  not.  **  I'll  give  you  an  answer 
in  a  month  " — to  all  three  of  us  !  For  God's  sake  let's 
sit  down  here  and  have  something  to  drink.' 

They  drew  up  a  couple  of  chairs  to  one  of  the  tables 
of  a  wine-shop  close  by,  and  shouted  to  the  waiter  with 
the  vigour  of  persons  going  to  the  dogs.  Here, 
behind  the  horizontal-headed  trees  that  dotted  this  part 
of  the  quay,  they  sat  over  their  bottles  denouncing 
womankind  till  the  sun  got  low  down  upon  the  river, 
and  the  houses  on  the  further  side  beoan  to  be  toned 
by  a  blue  mist.  At  last  they  rose  from  their  seats  and 
departed,  Xeigh  to  dine  and  consider  his  route,  and 
Ladywell  to  take  the  train  for  Dieppe. 

While  these  incidents  had  been  in  progress  the  two 
workmen  had  found  their  way  into  the  hotel  where 
Ethelberta  was  staying.  Passing  through  the  entrance, 
they  stood  at  gaze  in  the  court,  much  perplexed  as  to 
the  door  to  be  made  for ;  the  difficulty  was  solved  by 

309 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  appearance  of  Cornelia,  who  in  expectation  of  them 
had  been  for  the  last  half-hour  leaning  over  the  sill  of 
her  bed-room  window,  which  looked  into  the  interior, 
amusing  herself  by  watching  the  movements  to  and  fro 
in  the  court  beneath. 

After  conversing  awhile  in  undertones  as  if  they 
had  no  real  right  there  at  all,  Cornelia  told  them  she 
would  call  their  sister,  if  an  old  gentleman  who  had 
been  to  see  her  were  gone  again.  Cornelia  then  ran 
away,  and  Sol  and  Dan  stood  aloof,  till  they  had  seen 
the  old  gentleman  alluded  to  go  to  the  door  and  drive 
off,  shortly  after  which  Ethelberta  ran  down  to  meet 
them. 

'  Whatever  have  you  got  as  your  luggage  ? '  she 
said,  after  hearing  a  few  words  about  their  journey, 
and  looking  at  a  curious  object  like  a  huge  extended 
accordion  with  bellows  of  gorgeous -patterned  car- 
peting. 

'  Well,  I  thought  to  myself,'  said  Sol,  '  'tis  a  terrible 
bother  about  carrvinof  our  thincrs.  So  what  did  I  do 
but  turn  to  and  make  a  carpet-bag  that  would  hold  all 
mine  and  Dan's  too.  This,  you  see,  Berta,  is  a  deal 
top  and  bottom  out  of  three-quarter  stuff,  stained  and 
varnished.  Well,  then  you  see  I've  got  carpet  sides 
tacked  on  with  these  brass  nails,  which  make  it  look 
very  handsome  ;  and  so  when  my  bag  is  empty  'twill 
shut  up  and  be  only  a  couple  of  boards  under  yer  arm, 
and  when  'tis  open  it  will  hold  a'most  anything  you  like 
to  put  in  it.  That  portmantle  didn't  cost  more  than 
three  half-crowns  altogether,  and  ten  pound  wouldn't  ha' 
got  anything  so  strong  from  a  portmantle  maker,  would 
it,  Dan  ? ' 

*  Well,  no.' 

*And  then  you  see,  Berta,'  Sol  continued  in  the 
same  earnest  tone,  and  further  exhibiting  the  article  ; 
*  I've  made  this  trap-door  in  the  top  with  hinges  and 
padlock  complete,  so  that ' 

'  I  am  afraid  it  is  tiring  you  after  your  journey  to 
explain  all  this  to  me,'  said  Ethelberta  gently,  noticing 

510 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

that  a  few  Gallic  smilers  were  gathering  round.  *  Aunt 
has  found  a  nice  room  for  you  at  the  top  of  the  stair- 
case in  that  corner — "  Escalier  D  "  you'll  see  painted 
at  the  bottom — and  when  you  have  been  up  come 
across  to  me  at  number  thirty-four  on  this  side,  and 
we'll  talk  about  everything.' 

'  Look  here,  Sol,' said  Dan,  who  had  left  his  brother 
and  gone  on  to  the  stairs.  *  What  a  rum  staircase — 
the  treads  all  in  little  blocks,  and  painted  chocolate, 
as  I  am  alive  ! ' 

'  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  on  to  Paris 
with  you,  after  all,'  Ethelberta  continued  to  Sol. 
'Something  has  just  happened  which  makes  it  desirable 
for  me  to  return  at  once  to  England.  But  I  will  write 
a  list  of  all  you  are  to  see,  and  where  you  are  to  go,  so 
that  it  will  make  litde  difference  I  hope.' 

Ten  minutes  before  this  time  Ethelberta  had  been 
frankly  and  earnesdy  asked  by  Lord  Mountclere  to 
become  his  bride  ;  not  only  so,  but  he  pressed  her  to 
consent  to  have  the  ceremony  performed  before  they 
returned  to  England.  Ethelberta  had  unquestionably 
been  much  surprised  ;  and,  barring  the  fact  that  the 
viscount  was  somewhat  ancient  in  comparison  with 
herself,  the  temptation  to  close  with  his  offer  was 
strong,  and  would  have  been  felt  as  such  by  any  woman 
in  the  position  of  Ethelberta,  now  a  litde  reckless  by 
stress  of  circumstances,  and  tinged  with  a  bitterness 
of  spirit  against  herself  and  the  world  generally.  But 
she  was  experienced  enough  to  know  what  heaviness 
might  result  from  a  hasty  marriage,  entered  Into  with  a 
mind  full  of  concealments  and  suppressions  which,  If 
told,  were  likely  to  stop  the  marriage  altogether ;  and 
after  trying  to  bring  herself  to  speak  of  her  family  and 
situation  to  Lord  Mountclere  as  he  stood,  a  certain 
caution  triumphed,  and  she  concluded  that  it  would  be 
better  to  postpone  her  reply  till  she  could  consider 
which  of  two  courses  it  would  be  advisable  to  adopt ; 
to  write  and  explain  to  him,  or  to  explain  nothing  and 
refuse  him.     The  third  course,  to  explain  nothing  and 

311 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

hasten  the  wedding,  she  rejected  without  hesitation. 
With  a  pervading  sense  of  her  own  obligations  in 
forming  this  compact  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  ask  if 
Lord  Mountclere  might  not  have  duties  of  explanation 
equally  with  herself,  though  bearing  rather  on  the 
moral  than  the  social  aspects  of  the  case. 

Her  resolution  not  to  go  on  to  Paris  was  formed 
simply  because  Lord  Mountclere  himself  was  proceed- 
ing in  that  direction,  which  might  lead  to  other  un- 
seemly rencounters  with  him  had  she,  too,  persevered 
in  her  journey.  She  accordingly  gave  Sol  and  Dan 
directions  for  their  guidance  to  Paris  and  back,  starting 
herself  with  Cornelia  the  next  day  to  return  again  to 
Knollsea,  and  to  decide  finally  and  for  ever  what  to  do 
in  the  vexed  question  at  present  agitating  her. 

Never  before  in  her  life  had  she  treated  marriage 
in  such  a  terribly  cool  and  cynical  spirit  as  she  had 
done  that  day ;  she  was  almost  frightened  at  herself  in 
thinking  of  it.  How  far  any  known  system  of  ethics 
might  excuse  her  on  the  score  of  those  curious  pressures 
which  had  been  brought  to  bear  upon  her  life,  or 
whether  it  could  excuse  her  at  all,  she  had  no  spirit  to 
inquire.  English  society  appeared  a  gloomy  concre- 
tion enough  to  abide  in  as  she  contemplated  it  on  this 
journey  home  ;  yet,  since  its  gloominess  was  less  an 
essential  quality  than  an  accident  of  her  point  of  view, 
that  point  of  view  she  had  determined  to  change. 

There  lay  open  to  her  two  directions  in  which  to 
move.  She  might  annex  herself  to  the  easy-going 
high  by  wedding  an  old  nobleman,  or  she  might  join 
for  good  and  all  the  easy-going  low,  by  plunging  back 
to  the  level  of  her  family,  giving  up  all  her  ambitions 
for  them,  settling  as  the  wife  of  a  provincial  music- 
master  named  Julian,  with  a  little  shop  of  fiddles  and 
flutes,  a  couple  of  old  pianos,  a  few  sheets  of  stale 
music  pinned  to  a  string,  and  a  narrow  back  parlour, 
wherein  she  would  wait  for  the  phenomenon  of  a 
customer.  And  each  of  these  divergent  grooves  had 
its  fascinations,  till  she  reflected  with  regard  to  the  first 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

that,  even  though  she  were  a  legal  and  indisputable 

Lady  Mountclere,  she  might  be  despised  by  my  lord's 

circle,  and  left  lone  and  lorn.     The  intermediate  path 

of  accepting  Neigh  or  Lady  well  had  no  more  attractions 

for  her  taste  than  the  fact  of  disappointing  them  had 

quahns  for  her  conscience  ;  and  how  few  these  were 

may  be  inferred  from  her  opinion,  true  or  false,  that 

two  words  about  the  spigot  on  her  escutcheon  would 

sweep  her  lovers'  affections  to  the  antipodes.     She  had 

now  and  then  imagined  that  her  previous  intermarriage 

with  the   Petherwin  family  might  efface  much  besides 

her  surname,   but  experience  proved  that  the  having 

been  wife  for  a  few  weeks  to  a  minor  who  died  in  his 

father's  lifetime,  did  not  weave  such  a  tissue  of  glory 

about  her  course  as  would  resist  a  speedy  undoing  by 

startling  confessions  on  her  station  before  her  marriage, 

and  her  environments  now. 

o 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TOWN 

XXXVI 

Returning  by  way  of  Knollsea,  where  she  remained 
a  week  or  two,  Ethelberta  appeared  one  evening  at 
the  end  of  September  before  her  house  in  Exonbury 
Crescent,  accompanied  by  a  pair  of  cabs  with  the 
children  and  luggage  ;  but  Picotee  was  left  at  Knollsea, 
for  reasons  which  Ethelberta  explained  when  the  family 
assembled  in  conclave.  Her  father  was  there,  and 
began  telling  her  of  a  surprising  change  in  Menlove — 
an  unasked-for  concession  to  their  cause,  and  a  vow 
of  secrecy  which  he  could  not  account  for,  unless 
any  friend  of  Ethelberta's  had  bribed  her. 

'  O  no — that  cannot  be,'  said  she.  Any  influence 
of  Lord  Mountclere  to  that  effect  was  the  last  thing 
that  could  enter  her  thoughts.  '  However,  what  Men- 
love  does  makes  little  difference  to  me  now.'  And  she 
proceeded  to  state  that  she  had  almost  come  to  a 
decision  which  would  entirely  alter  their  way  of 
living. 

'  I  hope  It  will  not  be  of  the  sort  your  last  decision 
was,'  said  her  mother. 

'  No  ;  quite  the  reverse.  I  shall  not  live  here  in 
state  any  longer.  We  will  let  the  house  throughout  as 
lodgings,  while  it  is  ours  ;  and  you  and  the  girls  must 
manage  it.  I  will  retire  from  the  scene  altogether, 
and  stay  for  the  winter  at  Knollsea  with  Picotee.  I 
want  to  consider  my  plans  for  next  year,  and  I  would 
rather  be  away  from  town.      Picotee  is  left  there,  and 

314 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

I  return  in  two  days  with  the  books  and  papers   I 
require.' 

'  What  are  your  plans  to  be  ?  * 

*  I  am  going  to  be  a  schoolmistress — I  think  I  am.' 

*  A  schoolmistress  ? ' 

*  Yes.  And  Picotee  returns  to  the  same  occupation, 
which  she  ought  never  to  have  forsaken.  We  are 
going  to  study  arithmetic  and  geography  until  Christ- 
mas ;  then  I  shall  send  her  adrift  to  finish  her  term  as 
pupil-teacher,  while  I  go  into  a  training-school.  By 
the  time  I  have  to  give  up  this  house  I  shall  just  have 
got  a  little  country  school.' 

*  But,'  said  her  mother,  aghast,  *  why  not  write 
more  poems  and  sell  'em  ? ' 

'  Why  not  be  a  governess  as  your  were  ? '  said  her 
father. 

'  Why  not  go  on  with  your  tales  at  Mayfair  Hall  ? ' 
said  Gwendoline. 

*  I'll  answer  as  well  as  I  can.  I  have  decided  to 
give  up  romancing  because  I  cannot  think  of  any  more 
that  pleases  me.  I  have  been  trying  at  Knollsea  for  a 
fortnight,  and  it  is  no  use.  I  will  never  be  a  gover- 
ness again  :  I  would  rather  be  a  servant.  If  I  am  a 
schoolmistress  I  shall  be  entirely  free  from  all  contact 
with  the  great,  which  is  what  I  desire,  for  I  hate  them, 
and  am  getting  almost  as  revolutionary  as  Sol.  Father, 
I  cannot  endure  this  kind  of  existence  any  longer.  I 
sleep  at  night  as  if  I  had  committed  a  murder  :  I  start 
up  and  see  processions  of  people,  audiences,  battalions 
of  lovers  obtained  under  false  pretences — all  denounc- 
ing me  with  the  finger  of  ridicule.  Mother's  suggestion 
about  my  marrying  I  followed  out  as  far  as  dogged 
resolution  would  carry  me,  but  during  my  journey  here 
I  have  broken  down  ;  for  I  don't  want  to  marry  a 
second  time  among  people  who  would  regard  me 
as  an  upstart  or  intruder.  I  am  sick  of  ambition. 
My  only  longing  now  is  to  fly  from  society  altogether, 
and  go  to  any  hovel  on  earth  where  I  could  be  at 
peace.' 

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THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*What — has  anybody  been  insulting  you?'  said 
Mrs.  Chickerel. 

*  Yes  ;  or  rather  I  sometimes  think  he  may  have  : 
that  is,  if  a  proposal  of  marriage  is  only  removed 
from  being  a  proposal  of  a  very  different  kind  by  an 
accident. 

*A  proposal  of  marriage  can  never  be  an  insult/ 
her  mother  returned. 

*  I  think  otherwise,'  said  Ethelberta. 
'  So  do  I,'  said  her  father. 

*  Unless  the  man  was  beneath  you,  and  I  don't 
suppose  he  was  that,'  added  Mrs.  Chickerel. 

'  You  are  quite  right ;  he  was  not  that.  But  we 
will  not  talk  of  this  branch  of  the  subject.  By  far  the 
most  serious  concern  w^ith  me  is  that  I  ought  to  do 
some  good  by  marriage,  or  by  heroic  performance  of 
some  kind  ;  while  going  back  to  give  the  rudiments  of 
education  to  remote  hamleteers  will  do  none  of  you 
any  good  whatever.' 

'  Never  you  mind  us,'  said  her  father  ;  *  mind  your- 
self.' 

*  I  shall  hardly  be  minding  myself  either,  in  your 
opinion,  by  doing  that,'  said  Ethelberta  dryly.  '  But 
it  will  be  more  tolerable  than  what  I  am  doinof  now. 
Georgina,  and  Myrtle,  and  Emmeline,  and  Joey  will 
not  get  the  education  I  intended  for  them  ;  but  that 
must  go,  I  suppose.' 

'  How  full  of  vagaries  you  are,'  said  her  mother. 
*  Why  won't  it  do  to  continue  as  you  are  ?  No  sooner 
have  I  learnt  up  your  schemes,  and  got  enough  used 
to  'em  to  see  something  in  'em,  than  you  must  needs 
bewilder  me  again  by  starting  some  fresh  one,  so  that 
my  mind  gets  no  rest  at  all.' 

Ethelberta  too  keenly  felt  the  justice  of  this  remark, 
querulous  as  it  was,  to  care  to  defend  herself.  It  was 
hopeless  to  attempt  to  explain  to  her  mother  that  the 
oscillations  of  her  mind  might  arise  as  naturally  from 
the  perfection  of  its  balance,  like  those  of  a  logan-stone, 
as  from  inherent  lightness  ;  and  such  an  explanation, 

316 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

however  comforting  to  its  subject,  was  little  better  than 
none  to  simple  hearts  who  only  could  look  to  tangible 
outcrops. 

'  Really,  Ethelberta,'  remonstrated  her  mother,  '  this 
is  very  odd.  Making  yourself  miserable  in  trying  to 
get  a  position  on  our  account  is  one  thing,  and  not 
necessary  ;  but  I  think  it  ridiculous  to  rush  into  the 
other  extreme,  and  go  wilfully  down  in  the  scale.  You 
may  just  as  well  exercise  your  wits  in  trying  to  swim 
as  in  trying  to  sink.' 

*  Yes  ;  that's  what  I  think,'  said  her  father.  '  But 
of  course  Berta  knows  best.* 

*  I  think  so  too,'  said  Gwendoline. 

*And  so  do  I,'  said  Cornelia.  'If  I  had  once 
moved  about  in  large  circles  like  Ethelberta,  I  wouldn't 
go  down  and  be  a  schoolmistress — not  I.' 

*  I  own  it  is  foolish — suppose  it  is,'  said  Ethelberta 
wearily,  and  with  a  readiness  of  misgiving  that  showed 
how  recent  and  hasty  was  the  scheme.  '  Perhaps  you 
are  right,  mother ;  anything  rather  than  retreat.  I 
wonder  if  you  are  right !  Well,  I  will  think  again  of 
it  to-night.      Do  not  let  us  speak  more  about  it  now.' 

She  did  think  of  it  that  night,  very  long  and 
painfully.  The  arguments  of  her  relatives  seemed 
ponderous  as  opposed  to  her  own  inconsequent  longing 
for  escape  from  galling  trammels.  If  she  had  stood 
alone,  the  sentiment  that  she  had  begun  to  build  but 
was  not  able  to  finish,  by  whomsoever  it  might  have 
been  entertained,  would  have  had  few  terrors ;  but 
that  the  opinion  should  be  held  by  her  nearest  of  kin, 
to  cause  them  pain  for  life,  was  a  grievous  thing. 
The  more  she  thought  of  it,  the  less  easy  seemed 
the  justification  of  her  desire  for  obscurity.  From 
regarding  it  as  a  high  instinct  she  passed  into  a 
humour  that  gave  that  desire  the  appearance  of  a 
whim.  But  could  she  really  set  in  train  events,  which, 
if  not  abortive,  would  take  her  to  the  altar  with 
Viscount  Mountclere  ? 

In  one  determination  she  never  faltered  ;  to  commit 

317 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

her  sin  thoroughly  if  she  committed  it  at  all.  Her 
relatives  believed  her  choice  to  lie  between  Neigh  and 
Ladywell  alone.  But  once  having  decided  to  pass 
over  Christopher,  whom  she  had  loved,  there  could  be 
no  pausing  for  Ladywell  because  she  liked  him,  or  for 
Neigh  in  that  she  was  influenced  by  him.  They  were 
both  too  near  her  level  to  be  trusted  to  bear  the  shock 
of  receiving  her  from  her  father's  hands.  But  it  was 
possible  that  though  her  genesis  might  tinge  with 
vulgarity  a  commoner's  household,  susceptible  of  such 
depreciation,  it  might  show  as  a  picturesque  contrast 
in  the  family  circle  of  a  peer.  Hence  it  was  just  as 
well  to  go  to  the  end  of  her  logic,  where  reasons  for 
tergiversation  would  be  most  pronounced.  This 
thou2^ht  of  the  viscount,  however,  was  a  secret  for 
her  own  breast  alone. 

Nearly  the  whole  of  that  night  she  sat  weighing — 
first,  the  question  itself  of  marrying  Lord  Mountclere  ; 
and,  at  other  times,  whether,  for  safety,  she  might 
marry  him  without  previously  revealing  family  par- 
ticulars hitherto  held  necessary  to  be  revealed — a 
piece  of  conduct  she  had  once  felt  to  be  indefensible. 
The  ingenious  Ethelberta,  much  more  prone  than  the 
majority  of  women  to  theorize  on  conduct,  felt  the 
need  of  some  soothing  defence  of  the  actions  involved 
in  any  ambiguous  course  before  finally  committing 
herself  to  it. 

She  took  down  a  w^ell- known  treatise  on  Utili- 
tarianism which  she  had  perused  once  before,  and  to 
which  she  had  given  her  adherence  ere  any  instance 
had  arisen  wherein  she  might  wish  to  take  it  as  a 
guide.  Here  she  desultorily  searched  for  argument, 
and  found  it ;  but  the  application  of  her  author's 
philosophy  to  the  marriage  question  was  an  operation 
of  her  owm,  as  unjustifiable  as  it  was  likely  in  the 
circumstances. 

*  The  ultimate  end,'  she  read,  *  with  reference  to  and  for 
the  sake  of  which  all  other  things  are  desirable  (whether  we 
are  considering  our  own  good  or  that  of  other  people)  is  an 

318 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

existence  exempt  as  far  as  possible  from  pain,  and  as  rich  as 
possible  in  enjoyments,  both  in  point  of  quantity  and  quality. 
.  .  .  This  being,  according  to  the  utilitarian  opinion,  the  end 
of  human  action,  is  necessarily  also  the  standard  of  morality.' 

It  was  an  open  question,  so  far,  whether  her  own 
happiness  should  or  should  not  be  preferred  to  that  of 
others.  But  that  her  personal  interests  were  not  to  be 
considered  as  paramount  appeared  further  on  : — 

*  The  happiness  which  forms  the  standard  of  what  is  right 
in  conduct  is  not  the  agent's  own  happiness  but  that  of  all 
concerned.  As  between  his  own  happiness  and  that  of  others, 
utilitarianism  requires  him  to  be  as  strictly  impartial  as  a 
disinterested  and  benevolent  spectator.' 

As  to  whose  happiness  was  meant  by  that  of 
'other  people,'  'all  concerned,' and  so  on,  her  luminous 
moralist  soon  enlightened  her  : — 

'  The  occasions  on  which  any  person  (except  one  in  a 
thousand)  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  this  on  an  extended 
scale — in  other  words,  to  be  a  public  benefactor  —  are  but 
exceptional  ;  and  on  these  occasions  alone  is  he  called  on  to 
consider  public  utility  ;  in  every  other  case  private  utility,  the 
interest  or  happiness  of  some  few  persons,  is  all  he  has  to 
attend  to.' 

And  that  these  few  persons  should  be  those 
endeared  to  her  by  every  domestic  tie  no  argument 
was  needed  to  prove.  That  their  happiness  would 
be  in  proportion  to  her  own  well-doing,  and  power  to 
remove  their  risks  of  indigence,  required  no  proving 
either  to  her  now. 

By  a  sorry  but  unconscious  misapplication  of  sound 
and  wide  reasoning  did  the  active  mind  of  Ethelberta 
thus  find  itself  a  solace.  At  about  the  midniofht  hour 
she  felt  more  fortified  on  the  expediency  of  marriage 
with  Lord  Mountclere  than  she  had  done  at  all  since 
musing  on  It.  In  respect  of  the  second  query,  whether 
or  not,  In  that  event,  to  conceal  from  Lord  Mountclere 
the  circumstances  of  her  position  till  it  should  be  too 
late  for  him  to  object  to  them,  she  found  her  conscience 

319 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

inconveniently  in  the  way  of  her  theory,  and  the  oracle 
before  her  afforded  no  hint.  '  Ah — it  is  a  point  for  a 
casuist !  '  she  said. 

An  old  treatise  on  Casuistry  lay  on  the  top  shelf. 
She  opened  it — more  from  curiosity  than  for  guidance 
this  time,  it  must  be  observed — at  a  chapter  bearing 
on  her  own  problem,  *  The  disciplina  a7'cani,  or,  the 
doctrine  of  reserve.' 

Here  she  read  that  there  were  plenty  of  apparent 
instances  of  this  in  Scripture,  and  that  it  was  formed 
into  a  recognized  system  in  the  early  Church.  With 
reference  to  direct  acts  of  deception,  it  was  argued  that 
since  there  were  confessedly  cases  where  killing  is  no 
murder,  might  there  not  be  cases  where  lying  is  no 
sin?  It  could  not  be  right — or,  indeed,  anything  but 
most  absurd — to  say  in  effect  that  no  doubt  circum- 
stances would  occur  where  every  sound  man  would 
tell  a  lie,  and  would  be  a  brute  or  a  fool  if  he  did  not, 
and  to  say  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  quite  indefensible 
in  principle.  Duty  was  the  key  to  conduct  then,  and 
if  in  such  cases  duties  appeared  to  clash  they  would  be 
found  not  to  do  so  on  examination.  The  lesser  duty 
would  yield  to  the  greater,  and  therefore  ceased  to  be 
a  duty. 

This  author  she  found  to  be  not  so  tolerable  ;  he 
distracted  her.  She  put  him  aside  and  gave  over 
reading,  having  decided  on  this  second  point,  that  she 
would,  at  any  hazard,  represent  the  truth  to  Lord 
Mountclere  before  listening  to  another  word  from  him. 
'Well,  at  last  I  have  done,'  she  said,  'and  am  ready 
for  my  role' 

In  looking  back  upon  her  past  as  she  retired  to 
rest,  Ethelberta  could  almost  doubt  herself  to  be  the 
identical  woman  with  her  who  had  entered  on  a 
romantic  career  a  few  short  years  ago.  For  that  doubt 
she  had  good  reason.  She  had  begun  as  a  poet  of  the 
Satanic  school  in  a  sw^eetened  form  ;  she  was  ending 
as  a  pseiido-uxWiidindLn.  Was  there  ever  such  a  trans- 
mutation   effected    before    by   the   action   of   a   hard 

320 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

environment?  It  was  not  without  a  qualm  of  regret 
that  she  discerned  how  the  last  infirmity  of  a  noble 
mind  had  at  length  nearly  departed  from  her.  She 
wondered  if  her  early  notes  had  had  the  genuine  ring 
in  them,  or  whether  a  poet  who  could  be  thrust  by 
realities  to  a  distance  beyond  recognition  as  such  was 
a  true  poet  at  all.  Yet  Ethelberta's  gradient  had  been 
regular :  emotional  poetry,  light  verse,  romance  as  an 
object,  romance  as  a  means,  thoughts  of  marriage  as 
an  aid  to  her  pursuits,  a  vow  to  marry  for  the  good  of 
her  family ;  in  other  words,  from  soft  and  playful 
Romanticism  to  distorted  Benthamism.  Was  the  moral 
incline  upward  or  down? 


KNOLLSEA 
AN  ORNAMENTAL  VILLA 

XXXVII 

Her  energies  collected  and  fermented  anew  by  the 
results  of  the  vigil,  Ethelberta  left  town  for  Knollsea, 
where  she  joined  Picotee  the  same  evening.  Picotee 
produced  a  letter,  which  had  been  addressed  to  her 
sister  at  their  London  residence,  but  was  not  received 
by  her  there,  Mrs.  Chickerel  having  forwarded  it  to 
Knollsea  the  day  before  Ethelberta  arrived  in  town. 

The  crinkled  writing,  in  character  like  the  coast- 
line of  Tierra  del  Fuego,  was  becoming  familiar  by 
this  time.  While  reading  the  note  she  informed 
Picotee,  between  a  quick  breath  and  a  rusde  of  frills, 
that  it  was  from  Lord  Mountclere,  who  wrote  on  the 
subject  of  calling  to  see  her,  suggesting  a  day  in  the 
following  week.  'Now,  Picotee,'  she  continued,  'we 
shall  have  to  receive  him,  and  make  the  most  of  him, 
for  I  have  altered  my  plans  since  I  was  last  in 
Knollsea.' 

'  Altered  them  again  ?  What  are  you  going  to  be 
now — not  a  poor  person  after  all  ?  ' 

'  Indeed  not.  And  so  I  turn  and  turn.  Can  you 
imagine  what  Lord  Mountclere  is  coming  for  ?  But 
don't  say  what  you  think.  Before  I  reply  to  this 
letter  we  must  go  into  new  lodgings,  to  give  them  as 
our  address.  The  first  business  to-morrow  morning 
will  be  to  look  for  the  gayest  house  we  can  find  ;  and 

322 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Captain  Flower  and  this  little  cabin  of  his  must  be 
things  we  have  never  known.' 

The  next  day  after  breakfast  they  accordingly 
sallied  forth. 

Knollsea  had  recently  begun  to  attract  notice  in 
the  world.  It  had  this  year  undergone  visitation  from 
a  score  of  professional  gentlemen  and  their  wives,^  a 
minor  canon,  three  marine  painters,  seven  young  ladies 
with  books  in  their  hands,  and  nine-and-thirty  babies. 
Hence  a  few  lodging-houses,  of  a  dash  and  pretentious- 
ness far  beyond  the  mark  of  the  old  cottages  which 
formed  the  original  substance  of  the  village,  had  been 
erected  to  meet  the  wants  of  such  as  these.  To  a 
building  of  this  class  Ethelberta  now  bent  her  steps,  and 
the  crush  of  the  season  having  departed  in  the  persons 
of  three-quarters  of  the  above-named  visitors,  who  went 
away  by  a  coach,  a  van,  and  a  couple  of  wagonettes 
one  morning,  she  found  no  difficulty  in  arranging^  for 
a  red  and  yellow  streaked  villa,  which  was  so  bright 
and  glowing  that  the  sun  seemed  to  be  shining  upon 
it  even  on  a  cloudy  day,  and  the  ruddiest  native  looked 
pale  when  standing  by  its  walls.  It  was  not  without 
regret  that  she  renounced  the  sailor's  pretty  cottage 
for  this  porticoed  and  balconied  dwelling  ;  but  her 
lines  were  laid  down  clearly  at  last,  and  thither  she 
removed  forthwith. 

From  this  brand-new  house  did  Ethelberta  pen  the 
letter  fixing  the  time  at  which  she  would  be  pleased 
to  see  Lord  Mountclere. 

When  the  hour  drew  nigh  enormous  force  of  will  was 
required  to  keep  her  perturbation  down.  She  had  not 
distincdy  told  Picotee  of  the  object  of  the  viscount's 
visit,  but  Picotee  guessed  nearly  enough.  Ethelberta 
was  upon  the  whole  better  pleased  that  the  initiative 
had  again  come  from  him  than  if  the  first  step  in  the 
new  campaign  had  been  her  sending  the  explanatory 
letter,  as  intended  and  promised.  She  had  thought 
almost  direcdy  after  the  interview  at  Rouen  that  to 
enlighten  him  by  writing  a  confession  in  cold  blood, 

323 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

according  to  her  first  intention,  would  be  little  less 
awkward  for  her  in  the  method  of  telling  than  in  the 
facts  to  be  told. 

So  the  last  hair  was  arranged  and  the  last  fold 
adjusted,  and  she  sat  down  to  await  a  new  page  of  her 
history.  Picotee  sat  with  her,  under  orders  to  go  into 
the  next  room  when  Lord  Mountclere  should  call ;  and 
Ethelberta  determined  to  waste  no  time,  directly  he 
began  to  make  advances,  in  clearing  up  the  phenomena 
of  her  existence  to  him  ;  to  the  end  that  no  fact  which, 
in  the  event  of  his  taking  her  to  wife,  could  be  used 
against  her  as  an  example  of  concealment,  might 
remain  unrelated.  The  collapse  of  his  attachment 
under  the  test  might,  however,  form  the  grand  climax 
of  such  a  play  as  this. 

The  day  was  rather  cold  for  the  season,  and  Ethel- 
berta sat  by  a  fire  ;  but  the  windows  were  open,  and 
Picotee  was  amusing  herself  on  the  balcony  outside. 
The  hour  struck  :  Ethelberta  fancied  she  could  hear 
the  wheels  of  a  carriage  creeping  up  the  steep  ascent 
which  led  to  the  drive  before  the  door. 

*  Is  it  he  ? '  she  said  quickly. 

*No,'  said  Picotee,  whose  indifference  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  restlessness  of  her  who  was  usually 
the  coolest.  '  It  is  a  man  shaking  down  apples  in  the 
ofarden  over  the  wall.' 

They  lingered  on  till  some  three  or  four  minutes 
had  gone  by.  'Surely  that's  a  carriage?'  said  Ethel- 
berta, then. 

*  I  think  it  is,'  said  Picotee  outside,  stretching  her 
neck  forward  as  far  as  she  could.  *  No,  it  is  the  men 
on  the  beach  dragging  up  their  boats  ;  they  expect 
wind  to-night.' 

*  How  wearisome!  Picotee,  you  may  as  well  come 
inside  ;  if  he  means  to  call  he  will ;  but  he  ought  to  be 
here  by  this  time.' 

It  was  only  once  more,  and  that  some  time  later 
that  she  again  said  *  Listen  ! ' 

*  That's  not  the  noise  of  a  carriage ;  it  is  the  fizz  of 

324 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

a  rocket.     The  coastguardsmen  are  practising  the  life- 
apparatus  to-day,  to  be  ready  for  the  autumn  'wrecks.' 

*  Ah  ! '  said  Ethelberta,  her  face  clearing  up.  Hers 
had  not  been  a  sweetheart's  Impatience,  but  her  mood 
had  intensified  during  these  minutes  of  suspense  to  a 
harassing  mistrust  of  her  man-compelling  power,  which 
was,  if  that  w^ere  possible,  more  gloomy  than  dis- 
appointed love.  *  I  know  now  where  he  is.  That 
operation  with  the  cradle-apparatus  is  very  interesting, 
and  he  is  stopping  to  see  it.  .  .  .  But  I  shall  not  wait 
indoors  much  longer,  whatever  he  may  be  stopping 
to  see.  It  is  very  unaccountable,  and  vexing,  after 
moving  into  this  new  house  too.  We  were  much  more 
comfortable  in  the  old  one.  In  keeping  any  previous 
appointment  in  which  I  have  been  concerned  he  has 
been  ridiculously  early.' 

'  Shall  I  run  round  ? '  said  Picotee,  '  and  if  he  is  not 
watchlncr  them  we  will  o-q  out.' 

'Very  well,'  said  her  sister. 

The  time  of  PIcotee's  absence  seemed  an  age. 
Ethelberta  heard  the  roar  of  another  rocket,  and  still 
Picotee  did  not  return.  '  What  can  the  girl  be  think- 
ing of? '  she  mused.  .  .  .  'What  a  half-and-half  policy 
mine  has  been !  Thinking  of  marrying  for  position, 
and  yet  not  making  it  my  rigid  plan  to  secure  the  man 
the  first  moment  that  he  made  his  offer.  So  I  lose 
the  comfort  of  having  a  soul  above  worldliness,  and 
my  compensation  for  not  having  it  likewise ! '  A 
minute  or  two  more  and  in  came  Picotee. 

'  What  has  kept  you  so  long — and  how  excited  you 
look,'  said  Ethelberta. 

'  I  thought  I  would  stay  a  litde  while,  as  I  had 
never  seen  a  rocket -apparatus,'  said  Picotee,  faindy 
and  strangely. 

'  But  is  he  there  ? '  asked  her  sister  impatiendy. 

*  Yes — he  was.     He's  gone  now !  * 

*  Lord  Mountclere  ?  ' 

*No.  There  is  no  old  man  there  at  all.  Mr. 
Julian  was  there.' 

325 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

A  little  '  Ah ! '  came  from  Ethelberta,  like  a  note 
from  a  storm -bird  at  night.  She  turned  round  and 
went  into  the  back  room.  *  Is  Mr.  Julian  going  to 
call  here  ? '  she  inquired,  coming  forward  again. 

'  No — he's  gone  by  the  steamboat.  He  was  only- 
passing  through  on  his  way  to  Sandbourne,  where  he 
is  gone  to  settle  a  small  business  relating  to  his  father's 
affairs.  He  was  not  in  Knollsea  ten  minutes,  owing  to 
something  which  detained  him  on  the  way.' 

'  Did  he  inquire  for  me  ?  ' 

'  No.  And  only  think,  Ethelberta — such  a  remark- 
able thing  has  happened,  though  I  nearly  forgot  to  tell 
you.  He  says  that  coming  along  the  road  he  was 
overtaken  by  a  carriage,  and  when  it  had  just  passed 
him  one  of  the  horses  shied,  pushed  the  other  down  a 
slope,  and  overturned  the  carriage.  One  wheel  came 
off  and  trundled  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill  by  itself. 
Christopher  of  course  ran  up,  and  helped  out  of  the 
carriage  an  old  gentleman — now  do  you  know  what's 
likely  ?  ' 

'  It  was  Lord  Mountclere.  I  am  glad  that's  the 
cause,'  said  Ethelberta  involuntarily. 

*  I  imagined  you  would  suppose  it  to  be  Lord 
Mountclere.  But  Mr.  Julian  did  not  know  the  gentle- 
man, and  said  nothing  about  who  he  might  be.' 

'  Did  he  describe  him  ?  ' 

'  Not  much — just  a  little.' 

'Well.?' 

'  He  said  he  was  a  sly  old  dog  apparently,  to  hear 
how  he  swore  in  whispers.  This  affair  is  what  made 
Mr.  Julian  so  late  that  he  had  no  time  to  call  here. 
Lord  Mountclere's  ankle — if  it  was  Lord  Mountclere 
— was  badly  sprained.  But  the  servants  were  not 
injured,  beyond  a  scratch  on  the  coachman's  face. 
Then  they  got  another  carriage  and  drove  at  once 
back  again.  It  must  be  he,  or  else  why  is  he  not 
come?  It  is  a  pity,  too,  that  Mr.  Julian  was  hindered 
by  this,  so  that  there  was  no  opportunity  for  him  to 
bide  a  bit  in  Knollsea.' 

326 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ethelberta  was  not  disposed  to  believe  that  Chris- 
topher would  have  called,  had  time  favoured  him  to 
the  utmost.  Between  himself  and  her  there  was  that 
kind  of  division  which  is  more  insurmountable  than 
enmity  ;  for  estrangements  produced  by  good  judg- 
ment will  last  when  those  of  feeling  break  down  in 
smiles.  Not  the  lovers  who  part  in  passion,  but  the 
lovers  who  part  in  friendship,  are  those  who  most 
frequently  part  for  ever. 

'  Did  you  tell  Mr.  Julian  that  the  injured  gentle- 
man was  possibly  Lord  Mountclere,  and  that  he  was 
comine  here?'  said  Ethelberta. 

'  I  made  no  remark  at  all — I  did  not  think  of  him 
till  afterwards.' 

The  inquiry  was  hardly  necessary,  for  Picotee's 
words  would  dry  away  like  a  brook  in  the  sands  when 
she  held  conversation  with  Christopher. 

As  they  had  anticipated,  the  sufferer  was  no  other 
than  their  intending  visitor.  Next  morning  there  was 
a  note  explaining  the  accident,  and  expressing  its 
writer's  suffering  from  the  cruel  delay  as  greater  than 
that  from  the  swollen  ankle,  which  was  progressing 
favourably. 

Nothing  further  was  heard  of  Lord  Mountclere  for 
more  than  a  week,  when  she  received  another  letter, 
which  put  an  end  to  her  season  of  relaxation,  and  once 
more  braced  her  to  the  contest.  This  epistle  was  very 
courteously  written,  and  in  point  of  correctness,  pro- 
priety, and  gravity,  might  have  come  from  the  quill  of 
a  bishop.  Herein  the  old  nobleman  gave  a  further 
description  of  the  accident,  but  the  main  business  of 
the  communication  was  to  ask  her  if,  since  he  was  not 
as  yet  very  active,  she  would  come  to  Enckworth 
Court  and  delight  himself  and  a  small  group  of  friends 
who  were  visiting  there. 

She  pondered  over  the  letter  as  she  walked  by 
the  shore  that  day,  and  after  some  hesitation  decided 
to  go. 

327 


ENCKWORTH  COURT 

XXXVIII 

It  was  on  a  dull,  stagnant,  noiseless  afternoon  of 
autumn  that  Ethelberta  first  crossed  the  threshold  of 
E  nek  worth  Court.  The  daylight  was  so  lowered  by 
the  impervious  roof  of  cloud  overhead  that  it  scarcely 
reached  further  into  Lord  Mountclere's  entrance-hall 
than  to  the  splays  of  the  windows,  even  but  an  hour  or 
two  after  midday  ;  and  indoors  the  glitter  of  the  fire 
reflected  itself  from  the  very  panes,  so  inconsiderable 
were  the  opposing  rays. 

Enckworth  Court,  in  its  main  part,  had  not  been 
standing  more  than  a  hundred  years.  At  that  date 
the  weakened  portions  of  the  original  mediaeval 
structure  were  pulled  dow^n  and  cleared  away,  old 
jambs  being  carried  off  for  rick-staddles,  and  the 
foliated  timbers  of  the  hall  roof  making  themselves 
useful  as  fancy  chairs  in  the  summer-houses  of  rising 
mns.  A  new  block  of  masonry  was  built  up  from  the 
p-round  of  such  height  and  lordliness  that  the  remnant 
of  the  old  pile  left  standing  became  as  a  mere  cup- 
bearer and  culinary  menial  beside  it.  The  rooms  in 
this  old  fragment,  which  had  in  times  past  been  con- 
sidered sufiiiciently  dignified  for  dinlng-hall,  withdraw- 
ing-room,  and  so  on,  were  now  reckoned  barely  high 
enough  for  sculleries,  servants'  hall,  and  laundries,  the 
whole  of  which  were  arranged  therein. 

The  modern  portion  had  been  planned  with  such  a 
total  disregard  of  association,  that  the  very  rudeness  of 

328 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

the  contrast  gave  an  interest  to  the  mass  which  it 
might  have  wanted  had  perfect  harmony  been  attempted 
between  the  old  nucleus  and  its  adjuncts,  a  probable 
result  if  the  enlargement  had  taken  place  later  on  in 
time.  The  issue  was  that  the  hooded  windows,  simple 
string-courses,  and  random  masonry  of  the  Gothic 
workman,  stood  elbow  to  elbow  with  the  equal-spaced 
ashlar,  architraves,  and  fasciae  of  the  Classic  addition, 
each  telling  its  distinct  tale  as  to  stage  of  thought 
and  domestic  habit  without  any  of  those  artifices 
of  blending  or  restoration  by  which  the  seeker  for 
history  in  stones  will  be  utterly  hoodwinked  in  time  to 
come. 

To  the  left  of  the  door  and  vestibule  which  Ethel- 
berta  passed  through  rose  the  principal  staircase,  con- 
structed of  a  freestone  so  milk-white  and  delicately 
moulded  as  to  be  easily  conceived  In  the  lamplight  as 
of  biscuit-ware.  Who,  unacquainted  with  the  secrets  of 
geometrical  construction,  could  imagine  that,  hanging 
so  airily  there,  to  all  appearance  supported  on  nothing, 
were  twenty  or  more  tons  dead  weight  of  stone,  that 
would  have,  made  a  prison  for  an  elephant  if  so 
arranged  ?  The  art  which  produced  this  illusion  was 
questionable,  but  its  success  was  undoubted.  '  How 
lovely!'  said  Ethelberta,  as  she  looked  at  the  fairy 
ascent.      *  His  staircase  alone  is  worth  my  hand  ! ' 

Passing  along  by  the  colonnade,  which  pardy 
fenced  the  staircase  from  the  visitor,  the  saloon  was 
reached,  an  apartment  forming  a  double  cube.  About 
the  left-hand  end  of  this  were  grouped  the  drawing- 
rooms  and  library  ;  while  on  the  right  was  the  dlning- 
hall,  with  billiard,  smoking,  and  gun  rooms  in  mysterious 
remoteness  beyond. 

Without  attempting  to  trace  an  analogy  between  a 
man  and  his  mansion,  it  may  be  stated  that  everything 
here,  though  so  dignified  and  magnificent,  was  not 
conceived  in  quite  the  true  and  eternal  spirit  of  art. 
It  was  a  house  in  which  Pugin  would  have  torn  his 
hair.     Those    massive    blocks    of    red -veined    marble 

329 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

lining  the  hall — rcmulating  in  their  surface-glitter  the 
Escalier  de  Marbre  at  Versailles — were  cunning 
imitations  in  paint  and  plaster  by  workmen  brought 
from  afar  for  the  purpose,  at  a  prodigious  expense,  by 
the  present  viscount's  father,  and  recently  repaired  and 
re-varnished.  The  dark  green  columns  and  pilasters 
corresponding  were  brick  at  the  core.  Nay,  the 
external  walls,  apparently  of  massive  and  solid  free- 
stone, were  only  veneered  with  that  material,  being, 
like  the  pillars,  of  brick  within. 

To  a  stone  mask  worn  by  a  brick  face  a  story 
naturally  appertained — one  which  has  since  done 
service  in  other  quarters.  When  the  vast  addition  had 
just  been  completed  King  George  visited  Enckworth. 
Its  owner  pointed  out  the  features  of  his  grand  archi- 
tectural attempt,  and  waited  for  commendation. 

'  Brick,  brick,  brick,'  said  the  king. 

The  Georgian  Lord  Mountclere  blushed  faintly, 
albeit  to  his  very  poll,  and  said  nothing  more  about 
his  house  that  day.-  When  the  king  was  gone  he  sent 
frantically  for  the  craftsmen  recentl-y  dismissed,  and 
soon  the  green  lawns  became  again  the  colour  of  a 
Nine- Elms  cement  wharf.  Thin  freestone  slabs  were 
affixed  to  the  whole  series  of  fronts  by  copper  cramps 
and  dowels,  each  one  of  substance  sufficient  to  have 
furnished  a  poor  boy's  pocket  with  pennies  for  a  month, 
till  not  a  speck  of  the  original  surface  remained,  and 
the  edifice  shone  in  all  the  grandeur  of  massive  masonry 
that  was  not  massive  at  all.  But  who  remembered 
this  save  the  builder  and  his  crew  ?  and  as  Fong  as 
nobody  knew  the  truth,  pretence  looked  just  as  well. 

What  was  honest  in  Enckworth  Court  was  that 
portion  of  the  original  edifice  which  still  remained,  now 
degraded  to  subservient  uses.  Where  the  untitled 
INIountclere  of  the  White  Rose  faction  had  spread  his 
knees  over  the  brands,  when  the  place  was  a  castle 
and  not  a  court,  the  still-room  maid  now  simmered 
her  preserves  ;  and  where  Elizabethan  mothers  and 
daughters  of  that  sturdy  line  had  tapestried  the  love- 

330 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

scenes  of  Isaac  and  Jacob,  boots  and  shoes  were  now 
cleaned  and  coals  stowed  aw^ay. 

Lord  Mountclere  had  so  far  recovered  from  the 
sprain  as  to  be  nominally  quite  well,  under  pressure  of 
a  wish  to  receive  guests.  The  sprain  had  in  one  sense 
served  him  excellently.  He  had  now  a  reason,  apart 
from  that  of  years,  for  walking  with  his  stick,  and  took 
care  to  let  the  reason  be  frequently  known.  To-day 
he  entertained  a  larger  number  of  persons  than  had 
been  assembled  w^ithin  his  walls  for  a  great  length  of 
time. 

Until  after  dinner  Ethelberta  felt  as  if  she  were 
staying  at  an  hotel.  Few  of  the  people  whom  she 
had  met  at  the  meeting  of  the  Imperial  Association 
greeted  her  here.  The  viscount's  brother  was  not 
present,  but  Sir  Cyril  Blandsbury  and  his  wife  were 
there,  a  lively  pair  of  persons,  entertaining  as  actors, 
and  friendly  as  dogs.  Beyond  these  all  the  faces  and 
figures  were  new  to  her,  though  they  were  handsome 
and  dashinof  enough  to  satisfy  a  court  chronicler. 
Ethelberta,  in  a  dress  sloped  about  as  high  over  the 
shoulder  as  would  have  drawn  approval  from  Reynolds, 
and  expostulation  from  Lely,  thawed  and  thawed  each 
friend  who  came  near  her,  and  sent  him  or  her  away 
smiling  ;  yet  she  felt  a  little  surprise.  She  had  seldom 
visited  at  a  country-house,  and  knew  little  of  the 
ordinary  composition  of  a  group  of  visitors  within  its 
walls  ;  but  the  present  assemblage  seemed  to  want 
much  of  that  old-fashioned  stability  and  quaint  monu- 
mental dignity  she  had  expected  to  find  under  this 
historical  roof.  Nobody  of  her  entertainer's  own  rank 
appeared.  Not  a  single  clergyman  was  there.  A 
tendency  to  talk  Walpolean  scandal  about  foreign 
courts  was  particularly  manifest.  And  although  tropical 
travellers,  Indian  officers  and  their  wives,  courteous 
exiles,  and  descendants  of  Irish  kings,  were  infinitely 
more  pleasant  th-an  Lord  Mountclere's  landed  neigh- 
bours would  probably  have  been,  to  such  a  cosmopolite 
as    Ethelberta   a  calm   Tory  or   old  Whig  company 

331 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

would  have  given  a  greater  treat.  They  would  have 
struck  as  gratefully  upon  her  senses  as  sylvan  scenery 
after  crags  and  cliffs,  or  silence  after  the  roar  of  a 
cataract. 

It  was  evening,  and  all  these  personages  at  Enck- 
worth  Court  were  merry,  snug,  and  warm  within  its 
walls.  Dinner-time  had  passed,  and  everything  had 
gone  on  well,  when  Mrs.  Tara  O'Fanagan,  who  had  a 
gold-clamped  tooth,  which  shone  every  now  and  then, 
asked  Ethelberta  if  she  would  amuse  them  by  telling  a 
story,  since  nobody  present,  except  Lord  Mountclere, 
had  ever  heard  one  from  her  lips. 

Seeing  that  Ethelberta  had  been  working  at  that 
art  as  a  profession,  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  the 
question  was  conceived  with  tact,  though  it  was  put 
with  grace.  Lord  Mountclere  evidently  thought  it 
objectionable,  for  he  looked  unhappy.  To  only  one 
person  in  the  brilliant  room  did  the  request  appear  as 
a  timely  accident,  and  that  was  to  Ethelberta  herself. 
Her  honesty  was  always  making  war  upon  her 
manoeuvres,  and  shattering  their  delicate  meshes,  to 
her  great  inconvenience  and  delay.  Thus  there  arose 
those  devious  impulses  and  tangential  flights  which 
spoil  the  works  of  every  would-be  schemer  who  instead 
of  being  wholly  machine  is  half  heart.  One  of  these 
now  was  to  show  herself  as  she  really  was,  not  only  to 
Lord  Mountclere,  but  to  his  friends  assembled,  whom, 
in  her  ignorance,  she  respected  more  than  they  de- 
served, and  so  get  rid  of  that  self-reproach  which  had 
by  this  time  reached  a  morbid  pitch,  through  her  over- 
sensitiveness  to  a  situation  in  which  a  large  majority 
of  women  and  men  w^ould  have  seen  no  falseness. 

Full  of  this  curious  intention,  she  quietly  assented 
to  the  request,  and  laughingly  bade  them  put  them- 
selves in  listening  order. 

*  An  old  story  will  suit  us,*  said  the  lady  who  had 
importuned  her.      *  We  have  never  heard  one.' 

'No;  it  shall  be  quite  new,'  she  replied.  *One 
not  yet  made  public  ;  though  it  soon  will  be.' 

332 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

The  narrative  began  by  introducing  to  their  notice 
a   girl    of    the    poorest    and    meanest    parentage,    the 
daughter   of  a   serving- man,    and    the    fifth    of    ten 
children.     She  graphically  recounted,  as  if  they  were 
her  own,  the  strange  dreams  and  ambitious  longings 
of  this   child   when    young,   her  attempts    to    acquire 
education,     partial     failures,     partial     successes,     and 
constant  struggles  ;    instancing  how,  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  the  girl  concealed  herself  under  a  bookcase 
of  the  library  belonging  to  the  mansion  in  which  her 
father  served  as  footman,  and  having  taken  with  her 
there,  like  a  young  Fawkes,  matches  and  a  halfpenny 
candle,  was  going  to  sit  up  all  night  reading  when  the 
family   had    retired,   until   her   father  discovered    and 
prevented  her  scheme.     Then  followed  her  experiences 
as  nursery-governess,  her  evening  lessons  under  self- 
selected   masters,   and   her  ultimate   rise   to   a  higher 
grade    among    the    teaching    sisterhood.      Next    came 
another   epoch.     To   the   mansion   in  which   she   was 
engaged  returned  a  truant  son,  between  whom  and  the 
heroine  an  attachment  sprang  up.     The  master  of  the 
house  was  an  ambitious  gendeman  just  knighted,  who, 
perceiving  the  state  of  their  hearts,  harshly  dismissed 
the  homeless  governess,  and  rated  the  son,  the   con- 
sequence   being    that    the    youthful    pair    resolved    to 
marry  secredy,  and  carried  their  resolution  into  effect. 
The  runaway  journey  came  next,  and  then  a  moving 
description  of  the  death  of  the  young  husband,  and  the 
terror  of  the  bride. 

The  guests  began  to  look  perplexed,  and  one  or 
two  exchanged  whispers.  This  was  not  at  all  the 
kind  of  story  that  they  had  expected  ;  it  was  quite 
different  from  her  usual  utterances,  the  nature  of  which 
they  knew  by  report.  Ethelberta  kept  her  eye  upon 
Lord  INIountclere.  Soon,  to  her  amazement,  there 
was  that  in  his  face  which  told  her  that  he  knew  the 
story  and  its  heroine  quite  well.  When  she  delivered 
the  sentence  ending  with  the  professedly  fictitious 
words  :     '  I    thus   was   reduced   to  great    distress,  and 

333  N 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

vainly  cast  about  me  for  directions  what  to  do,'  Lord 
Mountclere's  manner  became  so  excited  and  anxious 
that  it  acted  reciprocally  upon  Ethelberta ;  her  voice 
trembled,  she  moved  her  lips  but  uttered  nothing. 
To  bring  the  story  up  to  the  date  of  that  very  evening 
had  been  her  intent,  but  it  was  beyond  her  power. 
The  spell  was  broken  ;  she  blushed  with  distress  and 
turned  away,  for  the  folly  of  a  disclosure  here  was  but 
too  apparent. 

Though  every  one  saw  that  she  had  broken  down, 
none  of  them  appeared  to  know  the  reason  why,  or  to 
have  the  clue  to  her  performance.  Fortunately  Lord 
Mountclere  came  to  her  aid. 

'  Let  the  first  part  end  here,'  he  said,  rising  and 
approaching  her.  *  We  have  been  well  entertained  so 
far.  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  the  story  I  was 
listening  to  was  utterly  an  invention,  so  vividly  does 
Mrs.  Petherwin  bring  the  scenes  before  our  eyes. 
She  must  now  be  exhausted ;  we  will  have  the 
remainder  to-morrow.' 

They  all  agreed  that  this  was  well,  and  soon  after 
fell  into  groups,  and  dispersed  about  the  rooms. 
When  everybody's  attention  was  thus  occupied  Lord 
Mountclere  whispered  to  Ethelberta  tremulously, 
*  Don't  tell  more  :  you  think  too  much  of  them  :  they 
are  no  better  than  you!  Will  you  meet  me  in  the 
little  winter  garden  two  minutes  hence  ^  Pass  through 
that  door,  and  along  the  glass  passage.'  He  himself 
left  the  room  by  an  opposite  door. 

She  had  not  set  three  steps  in  the  warm  snug 
octagon  of  glass  and  plants  when  he  appeared  on  the 
other  side. 

'  You  knew  it  all  before ! '  she  said,  looking  keenly 
at  him.  'Who  told  you,  and  how  long  have  you 
known  it  ? ' 

'  Before  yesterday  or  last  week,'  said  Lord  Mount- 
clere. '  Even  before  we  met  in  France.  Why  are 
you  so  surprised  ? ' 

Ethelberta  had  been  surprised,  and  very  greatly, 

334 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

to  find  him,  as  it  were,  secreted  in  the  very  rear  of  her 
position.  That  nothing  she  could  tell  was  new  to  him 
was  a  orood  deal  to  think  of,  but  it  was  little  beside 
the  recollection  that  he  had  actually  made  his  first 
declaration  in  the  face  of  that  knowledge  of  her  which 
she  had  supposed  so  fatal  to  all  her  matrimonial 
ambitions. 

'And  now  only  one  point  remains  to  be  settled,'  he 
said,  taking  her  hand.  '  You  promised  at  Rouen  that 
at  our  next  interv-iew  you  would  honour  me  with  a 
decisive  reply — one  to  make  me  happy  for  ever.' 

'  But  my  father  and  friends  ? '  said  she. 

*  Are  nothinof  to  be  concerned  about.  Modern 
developments  have  shaken  up  the  classes  like  peas 
in  a  hopper.      An   annuity,   and   a   comfortable   cot- 


tage 


*  My  brothers  are  workmen.' 

*  Manufacture  is  the  single  vocation  in  which  a 
man's  prospects  may  be  said  to  be  illimitable.  Hee- 
hee ! — they  may  buy  me  up  before  they  die !  And 
now  what  stands  in  the  way?  It  would  take  fifty 
alliances  with  fifty  families  so  little  disreputable  as 
yours,  darling,  to  drag  mine  down.' 

Ethelberta  had  anticipated  the  scene,  and  settled 
her  course  ;  what  had  to  be  said  and  done  here  was 
mere  formality ;  yet  she  had  been  unable  to  go 
straight  to  the  assent  required.  However,  after  these 
words  of  self-depreciation,  which  were  let  fall  as  much 
for  her  own  future  ease  of  conscience  as  for  his  present 
warning,  she  made  no  more  ado. 

'  I  shall  think  it  a  great  honour  to  be  your  wife,' 
she  said  simply. 


KNOLLSEA 

MELCHESTER 

XXXIX 

The  year  was  now  moving  on  apace,  but  Ethelberta 
and  Picotee  chose  to  remain  at  Knollsea,  in  the 
brilliant  variegated  brick  and  stone  villa  to  which  they 
had  removed  in  order  to  be  in  keeping  with  their 
ascending  fortunes.  Autumn  had  begun  to  make 
itself  felt  and  seen  in  bolder  and  less  subde  ways  than 
at  first.  In  the  morning  now,  on  coming  downstairs, 
in  place  of  a  yellowish-green  leaf  or  two  lying  in  a 
corner  of  the  lowest  step,  which  had  been  the  only 
previous  symptoms  around  the  house,  she  saw  dozens 
of  them  playing  at  corkscrews  in  the  wind,  directly 
the  door  was  opened.  Beyond,  towards  the  sea,  the 
slopes  and  scarps  that  had  been  muffled  with  a  thick 
robe  of  cliff  herbage,  were  showing  their  chill  grey 
substance  through  the  withered  verdure,  like  the  back- 
ground of  velvet  whence  the  pile  has  been  fretted 
away.  Unexpected  breezes  broomed  and  rasped  the 
smooth  bay  in  evanescent  patches  of  stippled  shade, 
and,  besides  the  small  boats,  the  ponderous  lighters 
used  in  shipping  stone  were  hauled  up  the  beach  in 
anticipation  of  the  equinoctial  attack. 

A  few  days  after  Ethelberta's  reception  at  Enck- 
worth,  an  improved  stanhope,  driven  by  Lord  Mount- 
clere  himself,  climbed  up  the  hill  until  it  was  opposite 
her  door.     A   few  notes  from  a  piano  sofdy  played 

336 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

reached  his  ear  as  he  descended  from  his  place  :  on 
being  shown  in  to  his  betrothed,  he  could  perceive  that 
she  had  just  left  the  instrument.  Moreover,  a  tear 
was  visible  in  her  eye  when  she  came  near  him. 

They  discoursed  for  several  minutes  in  tl  e  manner 
natural  between  a  defenceless  young  widow  and  an 
old  widower  in  Lord  Mountclere's  position  to  whom 
she  was  plighted — a  great  deal  of  formal  considerate- 
ness  making  itself  visible  on  her  part,  and  of  extreme 
tenderness  on  his.  While  thus  occupied,  he  turned  to 
the  piano,  and  casually  glanced  at  a  piece  of  music 
lying  open  upon  it.  Some  words  of  writing  at  the  top 
expressed  that  it  was  the  composer's  original  copy, 
presented  by  him,  Christopher  Julian,  to  the  author  of 
the  song.  Seeing  that  he  noticed  the  sheet  somewhat 
lengthily,  Ethelberta  remarked  that  it  had  been  an 
offering  made  to  her  a  long  time  ago — a  melody 
written  to  one  of  her  own  poems. 

'  In  the  writing  of  the  composer,'  observed  Lord 
Mountclere,  with  interest.  *  An  offering  from  the 
musician  himself — very  gratifying  and  touching.  Mr. 
Christopher  Julian  is  the  name  I  see  upon  it,  I  believe  ? 
I  knew  his  father,  Dr.  Julian,  a  Sandbourne  man,  if  I 
recollect.' 

'Yes,'  said  Ethelberta  placidly.  But  it  was  really 
with  an  effort.  The  song  was  the  identical  one  which 
Christopher  sent  up  to  her  from  Sandbourne  when 
the  fire  of  her  hope  burnt  high  for  less  material  ends  ; 
and  the  discovery  of  the  sheet  among  her  music  that 
day  had  started  eddies  of  emotion  for  some  time 
checked. 

'  I  am  sorry  you  have  been  grieved,'  said  Lord 
Mountclere,  with  gloomy  restlessness. 

'  Grieved  ?  '  said  Ethelberta. 

'  Did  I  not  see  a  tear  there  ?  or  did  my  eyes 
deceive  me  ? ' 

'  You  might  have  seen  one.' 

'  Ah  !  a  tear,  and  a  song.      I  think ' 

'  You  naturally  think  that  a  woman  who  cries  over 

337 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

a  man's  gift  must  be  in  love  with  the  giver?'     Ethel- 
berta  looked  him  serenely  In  the  face. 

Lord  Mountclere's  jealous  suspicions  were  con- 
siderably shaken. 

*  Not  at  all,'  he  said  hastily,  as  if  ashamed.  *  One 
who  cries  over  a  song  is  much  affected  by  its  senti- 
ment.' 

*  Do  you  expect  authors  to  cry  over  their  own 
words  ?  '  she  inquired,  merging  defence  in  attack.  '  I 
am  afraid  they  don't  often  do  that.' 

'  You  would  make  me  uneasy.' 
'On  the  contrary,  I  would  reassure  you.     Are  you 
not  still  doubting  ? '  she  asked,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

*  I  cannot  doubt  you ! ' 

*  Swear,  like  a  faithful  knight.* 

*  I  swear,  my  fairy,  my  flower !  * 

After  this  the  old  man  appeared  to  be  pondering ; 
indeed,  his  thoughts  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  present 
when  he  uttered  the  w^ords.  For  though  the  taber- 
nacle was  getting  shaky  by  reason  of  years  and  merry 
living,  so  that  what  was  going  on  inside  might  often  be 
guessed  without  by  the  movement  of  the  hangings,  as 
in  a  puppet-show  with  worn  canvas,  he  could  be  quiet 
enough  when  scheming  any  plot  of  particular  neatness, 
which  had  less  emotion  than  Implshness  in  it.  Such 
an  innocent  amusement  he  was  pondering  now. 

Before  leaving  her,  he  asked  if  she  would  ac- 
company him  to  a  morning  instrumental  concert  at 
Melchester,  which  was  to  take  place  in  the  course  of 
that  week  for  the  benefit  of  some  local  institution. 

'  Melchester,'  she  repeated  faintly,  and  observed 
him  as  searchingly  as  it  was  possible  to  do  without 
exposing  herself  to  a  raking  fire  in  return.  Could  he 
know  that  Christopher  was  living  there,  and  was  this 
said  in  prolongation  of  his  recent  suspicion  ?  But 
Lord  Mountclere's  face  gave  no  sign. 

'You  forget  one  fatal  objection,'  said  she;  'the 
secrecy  in  which  it  is  imperative  that  the  engagement 
between  us  should  be  kept.' 

338 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  I  am  not  known  in  Melchester  without  my 
carriage  ;  nor  are  you.' 

'  We  may  be  known  by  somebody  on  the  road.' 

'  Then  let  it  be  arranged  in  this  way.  I  will  not 
call  here  to  take  you  up,  but  will  meet  you  at  the 
station  at  Anglebury  ;  and  we  can  go  on  together  by 
train  without  notice.  Surely  there  can  be  no  objection 
to  that  ?  It  would  be  mere  prudishness  to  object, 
since  we  are  to  become  one  so  shortly.'  He  spoke  a 
little  impatiently.  It  was  plain  that  he  particularly 
wanted  her  to  go  to  Melchester. 

'  I  merely  meant  that  there  was  a  chance  of  dis- 
covery in  our  going  out  together.  And  discovery 
means  no  marriage.'  She  was  pale  now,  and  sick  at 
heart,  for  it  seemed  that  the  viscount  must  be  aware 
that  Christopher  dwelt  at  that  place,  and  was  about  to 
test  her  concerninof  him. 

'  Why  does  it  mean  no  marriage  ? '  said  he. 

'  My  father  might,  and  almost  certainly  would, 
object  to  it.  x^lthough  he  cannot  control  me,  he 
might  entreat  me.' 

'  Why  would  he  object  ? '  said  Lord  Mountclere 
uneasily,  and  somewhat  haughtily. 

*  I  don't  know.' 

*  But  you  will  be  my  wife — say  again  that  you  will.* 

*  I  will.' 

He  breathed.  'He  will  not  object — hee-hee  ! '  he 
said.      *  O  no — I  think  you  will  be  mine  now.' 

'  I  have  said  so.      But  look  to  me  all  the  same.' 
*You    malign    yourself,    dear    one.      But   you    will 
meet    me  at   Anglebury,    as    I    wish,    and   go  on   to 
Melchester  with  me  ? ' 

*  I  shall  be  pleased  to — if  my  sister  may  accompany 
me.' 

'  Ah — your  sister.     Yes,  of  course.' 

They  settled  the  time  of  the  journey,  and  when  the 
visit  had  been  stretched  out  as  long  as  it  reasonably 
could  be  with  propriety.  Lord  Mountclere  took  his 
leave. 

339 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

When  he  was  again  seated  on  the  driving-phaeton 
which  he  had  brought  that  day,  Lord  Mountclere 
looked  gleeful,  and  shrewd  enough  in  his  own  opinion 
to  outwit  Mephistopheles.  As  soon  as  they  were 
ascending  a  hill,  and  he  could  find  time  to  free  his 
hand,  he  pulled  off  his  glove,  and  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  programme  of  the  Melchester  concert  referred 
to,  contemplated  therein  the  name  of  one  of  the 
intended  performers.  The  name  was  that  of  Mr.  C. 
Julian.  Replacing  it  again,  he  looked  ahead,  and 
some  time  after  murmured  with  wily  mirth,  '  An 
excellent  test — a  lucky  thought ! ' 

Nothing  of  importance  occurred  during  the  inter- 
vening days.  At  two  o'clock  on  the  appointed  after- 
noon Ethelberta  stepped  from  the  train  at  Melchester 
with  the  viscount,  who  had  met  her  as  proposed  ;  she 
was  followed  behind  by  Picotee. 

The  concert  was  to  be  held  at  the  Town-hall  half- 
an-hour  later.  They  entered  a  fly  in  waiting,  and 
secure  from  recognition,  were  driven  leisurely  in  that 
direction,  Picotee  silent  and  absorbed  with  her  own 
thoughts. 

'  There's  the  Cathedral,'  said  Lord  Mountclere 
humorously,  as  they  caught  a  view  of  one  of  its  towers 
through  a  street  leading  into  the  Close. 

'  Yes.' 

*  It  boasts  of  a  very  fine  organ.* 
'  Ah.' 

*  And  the  organist  is  a  clever  young  man/ 
*0h.' 

Lord  Mountclere  paused  a  moment  or  two.  *  By 
the  way,  you  may  remember  that  he  is  the  Mr.  Julian 
who  set  your  song  to  music ! ' 

*  I  recollect  it  quite  well.'  Her  heart  was  horrified, 
and  she  thought  Lord  Mountclere  must  be  developing 
into  an  inquisitor,  which  perhaps  he  was.  But  none 
of  this  reached  her  face. 

They  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Hall,  were  set 
down,  and  entered. 

340 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

The  large  assembly-room  set  apart  for  the  concert 
was  upstairs,  and  it  was  possible  to  enter  it  in  two 
ways  :  by  the  large  doorway  in  front  of  the  landing,  or 
by  turning  down  a  side  passage  leading  to  council- 
rooms  and  subsidiary  apartments  of  small  size,  which 
were  allotted  to  performers  in  any  exhibition  ;  who 
could  thus  enter  from  one  of  these  directly  upon  the 
platform,  without  passing  through  the  audience. 

'  Will  you  seat  yourselves  here  ?  '  said  Lord  Mount- 
clere,  who,  instead  of  entering  by  the  direct  door,  had 
brought  the  young  women  round  into  this  green-room, 
as  it  may  be  called.  '  You  see  we  have  come  in 
privately  enough  ;  when  the  musicians  arrive  we  can 
pass  through  behind  them,  and  step  down  to  our  seats 
from  the  front.' 

The  players  could  soon  be  heard  tuning  in  the 
next  room.  Then  one  came  through  the  passage-room 
where  the  three  waited,  and  went  in,  then  another, 
then  another.      Last  of  all  came  Julian. 

Ethelberta  sat  facing  the  door,  but  Christopher, 
never  in  the  least  expecting  her  there,  did  not  recog- 
nize her  till  he  was  quite  inside.  When  he  had  really 
perceived  her  to  be  the  one  who  had  troubled  his  soul 
so  many  times  and  long,  the  blood  in  his  face — never 
very  much — passed  off  and  left  it,  like  the  shade  of  a 
cloud.  Between  them  stood  a  table  covered  with 
green  baize,  which,  reflecting  upwards  a  band  of  sun- 
light shining  across  the  chamber,  flung  upon  his  already 
white  features  the  virescent  hues  of  death.  The  poor 
musician,  whose  person,  much  to  his  own  incon- 
venience, constituted  a  complete  breviary  of  the  gentle 
emotions,  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  fall  down  in  a 
faint. 

Ethelberta  flung  at  Lord  Mountclere  a  look  which 
clipped  him  like  pincers  :  he  never  forgot  it  as  long  as 
he  lived. 

'  This  is  your  pretty  jealous  scheme — I  see  it ! '  she 
hissed  to  him,  and  without  being  able  to  control  herself 
went  across  to  Julian. 

341 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

But  a  slight  gasp  came  from  behind  the  door  where 
Picotee  had  been  sitting.  Ethelberta  and  Lord 
Mountclere  looked  that  way :  and  behold,  Picotee  had 
nearly  swooned. 

Ethelberta's  show  of  passion  went  as  quickly  as  it 
had  come,  for  she  felt  that  a  splendid  triumph  had  been 
put  Into  her  hands.  '  Now  do  you  see  the  truth  ? '  she 
whispered  to  Lord  Mountclere  without  a  drachm  of 
feeling ;  pointing  to  Christopher  and  then  to  Picotee 
— as  like  as  two  snowdrops  now. 

*  I  do,  I  do,'  murmured  the  viscount  hastily. 
They  both  went  forward   to  help   Christopher  In 

restoring  the  fragile  Picotee  :  he  had  set  himself  to 
that  task  as  suddenly  as  he  possibly  could  to  cover  his 
own  near  approach  to  the  same  condition.  Not  much 
help  was  required,  the  little  girl's  indisposition  being 
quite  momentary,  and  she  sat  up  in  the  chair  again. 
'Are  you  better  ?'  said  Ethelberta  to  Christopher. 

*  Quite  well — quite,'  he  said,  smiling  faintly.  '  I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  I  must,  I  think,  go  into  the  next 
room  now.'      He  bowed  and  walked  out  awkwardly. 

'  Are  you  better,  too  ? '  she  said  to  Picotee. 

'Quite  well,'  said  Picotee. 

'  You  are  quite  sure  you  know  between  whom  the 
love  lies  now — eh  .'^ '  Ethelberta  asked  in  a  sarcastic 
whisper  of  Lord  Mountclere. 

'  I  am — beyond  a  doubt,'  murmured  the  anxious 
nobleman  ;  he  feared  that  look  of  hers,  which  was  not 
less  dominant  than  Irresistible. 

Some  additional  moments  given  to  thought  on  the 
circumstances  rendered  Ethelberta  still  more  indignant 
and  intractable.  She  went  out  at  the  door  by  which 
they  had  entered,  along  the  passage,  and  down  the 
stairs.  A  shuffling  footstep  followed,  but  she  did  not 
turn  her  head.  When  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  the  carriage  had  gone,  their  exit  not  being 
expected  till  two  hours  later.  Ethelberta,  nothing 
daunted,  swept  along  the  pavement  and  down  the 
street  In  a  turbulent  prance.  Lord  Mountclere  trotting 

342 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

behind  with  a  jowl  reduced  to  a  mere  nothing  by  his 
concern  at  the  discourtesy  into  which  he  had  been 
lured  by  jealous  whisperings. 

'My  dearest  —  forgive  me;  I  confess  I  doubted 
you — but  I  was  beside  myself,'  came  to  her  ears  from 
over   her   shoulder.      But    Ethelberta   walked    on   as 

before. 

Lord  Mountclere  sighed  like  a  poet  over  a  ledger. 
*  An  old  man — who  is  not  very  old — naturally  torments 
himself  with  fears  of  losing — no,  no — it  was  an  inno- 
cent jest  of  mine — you  will  forgive  a  joke — hee-hee?' 
he  said  again,  on  getting  no  reply. 

'  You  had  no  right  to  mistrust  me !  * 

*  I  do  not — you  did  not  blench.  You  should  have 
told  me  before  that  it  was  your  sister  and  not  yourself 
who  was  entangled  with  him.' 

*You   brought   me   to   Melchester  on  purpose  to 
confront  him ! ' 
'  Yes,  I  did.* 

*  Are  you  not  ashamed  ? ' 

*  I  am  satisfied.  It  is  better  to  know  the  truth  by 
any  means  than  to  die  of  suspense ;  better  for  us  both 
— surely  you  see  that  ?  ' 

They  had  by  this  time  got  to  the  end  of  a  long 
street,  and  into  a  deserted  side  road  by  which  the 
station  could  be  indirecdy  reached.  Picotee  appeared 
in  the  distance  as  a  mere  distracted  speck  of  girlhood, 
following  them  because  not  knowing  what  else  to  do 
in  her  sickness  of  body  and  mind.  Once  out  of  sight 
here,  Ethelberta  began  to  cry. 

'Ethelberta,'  said  Lord  Mountclere,  in  an  agony 
of  trouble,  'don't  be  vexed!  It  was  an  Inconsiderate 
trick — I  own  It.  Do  what  you  will,  but  do  not  desert 
me  now!  I  could  not  bear  it — you  would  kill  me  if 
you  were  to  leave  me.     Anything,  but  be  mine.' 

Ethelberta  continued  her  way,  and  drying  her  eyes 
entered  the  station,  where,  on  searching  the  time-tables, 
she  found  there  would  be  no  train  for  Anglebury  for 
the  next  two  hours.     Then  more  slowly  she  turned 

343 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

towards  the  town  again,  meeting  Picotee  and  keeping 
in  her  company. 

Lord  Mountclere  gave  up  the  chase,  but  as  he 
wished  to  get  into  the  town  again,  he  followed  in  the 
same  direction.  When  Ethelberta  had  proceeded  as 
far  as  the  Red  Lion  Hotel,  she  turned  towards  it  with 
her  companion,  and  being  shown  to  a  room,  the  two 
sisters  shut  themselves  in.  Lord  Mountclere  paused 
and  entered  the  White  Hart,  the  rival  hotel  to  the  Red 
Lion,  which  stood  in  an  adjoining  street. 

Having  secluded  himself  in  an  apartment  here, 
walked  from  window  to  window  awhile,  and  made  him- 
self generally  uncomfortable,  he  sat  down  to  the  writing 
materials  on  the  table,  and  concocted  a  note  : — 

White  Hart  Hotel. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Petherwin, — You  do  not  mean  to  be  so 
cruel  as  to  break  your  plighted  word  to  me  ?  Remember, 
there  is  no  love  without  much  jealousy,  and  lovers  are  ever 
full  of  sighs  and  misgiving.  I  have  owned  to  as  much 
contrition  as  can  reasonably  be  expected.  I  could  not  endure 
the  suspicion  that  you  loved  another. — Yours  always, 

Mountclere. 

This  he  sent,  watching  from  the  window  its  progress 
along  the  street.  He  waited  anxiously  for  an  answer, 
and  waited  long.  It  was  nearly  twenty  minutes  before 
he  could  hear  a  messenger  approaching  the  door.  Yes 
— she  had  actually  sent  a  reply  ;  he  prized  it  as  if  it 
had  been  the  first  encouragement  he  had  ever  in  his 
life  received  from  woman  : — 

My  Lord  (wrote  Ethelberta),— I  am  not  prepared  at 
present  to  enter  into  the  question  of  marriage  at  all.  The 
incident  which  has  occurred  affords  me  every  excuse  for 
withdrawing  my  promise,  since  it  was  given  under  misappre- 
hensions on  a  point  that  materially  affects  my  happiness. 

E.  Petherwin. 

*  Ho-ho-ho — Miss  Hoity-toity  ! '  said  Lord  Mount- 
clere, trotting  up  and  down.      But,  remembering  it  was 

344 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

her  June  against  his  November,  this  did  not  last  long, 
and  he  frantically  replied  : — 

My  Darling, — I  cannot  release  you — I  must  do  anything 
to  keep  my  treasure.  Will  you  not  see  me  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  let  bygones  go  to  the  winds  ? 

Was  ever  a  thrush  so  safe  in  a  cherry  net  before ! 

The  messenp^er  came  back  with  the  information 
that  Mrs.  Petherwin  had  taken  a  walk  to  the  Close, 
her  companion  alone  remaining  at  the  hotel.  There 
being  nothing  else  left  for  the  viscount  to  do,  he  put 
on  his  hat,  and  went  out  on  foot  in  the  same  direction. 
He  had  not  walked  far  when  he  saw  Ethelberta  moving 
slowly  along  the  High  Street  before  him. 

Ethelberta  was  at  this  hour  wandering  without  any 
fixed  intention  beyond  that  of  consuming  time.  She 
was  very  wretched,  and  very  indifferent  :  the  former 
when  thinking  of  her  past,  the  latter  when  thinking  of 
the  days  to  come.  While  she  walked  thus  unconscious 
of  the  streets,  and  their  groups  of  other  wayfarers,  she 
saw  Christopher  emerge  from  a  door  not  many  paces 
in  advance,  and  close  it  behind  him  :  he  stood  for  a 
moment  on  the  step  before  descending  into  the  road. 

She  could  not,  even  had  she  wished  it,  easily  check 
her  progress  without  rendering  the  chance  of  his  per- 
ceiving her  still  more  certain.  But  she  did  not  wish 
any  such  thing,  and  it  made  little  difference,  for  he  had 
already  seen  her  in  taking  his  survey  round,  and  came 
down  from  the  door  to  her  side.  It  was  impossible 
for  anything  formal  to  pass  between  them  now. 

'  You  are  not  at  the  concert,  Mr.  Julian  ? '  she  said. 
'  I  am  glad  to  have  a  better  opportunity  of  speaking 
to  you,  and  of  asking  for  your  sister.  Unfortunately 
there  is  not  time  for  us  to  call  upon  her  to-day.' 

'  Thank  you,  but  it  makes  no  difference,'  said 
Julian,  with  somewhat  sad  reserve.  '  I  will  tell  her  I 
have  met  you  ;  she  is  away  from  home  just  at  present.' 
And  finding  that  Ethelberta  did  not  rejoin  immediately 
he  observed,  '  The  chief  organist,  old  Dr.  Breete,  has 

345 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

taken  my  place  at  the  concert,  as  It  was  arranged  he 
should  do  after  the  opening  part.  I  am  now  going  to 
the  Cathedral  for  the  afternoon  service.  You  are 
going  there  too  ? ' 

*  I  thouo^ht  of  lookiniTf  at  the  interior  for  a  moment.* 
So  they  went  on  side  by  side,  saying  little  ;  for  it 

was  a  situation  in  which  scarcely  any  appropriate  thing 
could  be  spoken.  Ethelberta  was  the  less  reluctant  to 
walk  in  his  company  because  of  the  provocation  to 
skittishness  that  Lord  Mountclere  had  given,  a  provoca- 
tion which  she  still  resented.  But  she  was  far  from 
wishing  to  increase  his  jealousy ;  and  yet  this  was 
what  she  was  doing,  Lord  Mountclere  being  a  per- 
turbed witness  from  behind  of  all  that  was  passing 
now. 

They  turned  the  corner  of  the  short  street  of  con- 
nection which  led  under  an  archway  to  the  Cathedral 
Close,  the  old  peer  dogging  them  still.  Christopher 
seemed  to  warm  up  a  little,  and  repeated  the  invitation. 
'  You  will  come  with  your  sister  to  see  us  before  you 
leave  ?  '  he  said.     '  We  have  tea  at  six.' 

'We  shall  have  left  Melchester  before  that  time. 
I  am  now  only  waiting  for  the  train.' 

*  You  two  have  not  come  all  the  way  from 
Knollsea  alone  ? ' 

'  Part  of  the  way,'  said  Ethelberta  evasively. 

*  And  going  back  alone  ? ' 

*  No.  Only  for  the  last  five  miles.  At  least  that 
was  the  arrangement — I  am  not  quite  sure  if  it  holds 
good.' 

*  You  don't  wish  me  to  see  you  safely  in  the  train  ? ' 

*  It  is  not  necessary  :  thank  you  very  much.  We 
are  well  used  to  getting  about  the  world  alone,  and 
from  Melchester  to  Knollsea  is  no  serious  journey,  late 
or  early.  .  .  .  Yet  I  think  I  ought,  in  honesty,  to  tell 
you  that  we  are  not  entirely  by  ourselves  in  Melchester 
to-day.* 

*  I  remember  I  saw  your  friend — relative — in  the 
room  at  the  Town-hall.     It  did  not  occur  to  my  mind 

.346 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

for  the  moment  that  he  was  any  other  than  a  stranger 
standing  there.' 

'  He  is  not  a  relative,'  she  said,  with  perplexity.  *  I 
hardly  know,  Christopher,  how  to  explain  to  you  my 
position  here  to-day,  because  of  some  difficulties  that 
have  arisen  since  we  have  been  in  the  town,  which 
may  alter  it  entirely.  On  that  account  I  will  be  less 
frank  with  you  than  I  should  like  to  be,  considering 
how  long  we  have  known  each  other.  It  would  be 
wrong,  however,  if  I  were  not  to  tell  you  that  there 
has  been  a  possibility  of  my  marriage  with  him.' 

*  The  elderly  gentleman  ? ' 

*Yes.  And  I  came  here  in  his  company,  intending 
to  return  with  him.  But  you  shall  know  all  soon. 
Picotee  shall  write  to  Faith.' 

'  I  always  think  the  Cathedral  looks  better  from 
this  point  than  from  the  point  usually  chosen  by 
artists,'  he  said,  with  nervous  quickness,  directing 
her  glance  upwards  to  the  silent  structure,  now  misty 
and  unrelieved  by  either  high  light  or  deep  shade. 
'We  get  the  grouping  of  the  chapels  and  choir- 
aisles  more  clearly  shown — and  the  whole  culminates 
to  a  more  perfect  pyramid  from  this  spot — do  you 
think  so  ? ' 

'  Yes.     I  do.* 

A  little  further,  and  Christopher  stopped  to  enter, 
when  Ethelberta  bade  him  farewell.  *  I  thought  at 
one  time  that  our  futures  might  have  been  different 
from  what  they  are  apparently  becoming,'  he  said 
then,  regarding  her  as  a  stall  -  reader  regards  the 
brilliant  book  he  cannot  afford  to  buy.  '  But  one 
gets  weary  of  repining  about  that.  I  wish  Picotee 
and  yourself  could  see  us  oftener ;  I  am  as  confirmed 
a  bachelor  now  as  Faith  is  an  old  maid.  I  wonder 
if — should  the  event  you  contemplate  occur — you  and 
he  will  ever  visit  us,  or  we  shall  ever  visit  you ! ' 

Christopher  was  evidently  imagining  the  elderly 
gentleman  to  be  some  retired  farmer,  or  professional 
man  already  so  intermixed  with  the  metamorphic  classes 

347 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

of  society  as  not  to  be  surprised  or  inconvenienced  by 
her  beofinninofs  ;  one  who  wished  to  secure  Ethelberta 
as  an  ornament  to  his  parlour  nre  in  a  quiet  spirit,  and 
in  no  intoxicated  mood  regardless  of  issues.  She 
could  scarcely  reply  to  his  supposition  ;  and  the  parting 
was  what  might  have  been  predicted  from  a  conversa- 
tion so  carefully  controlled. 

Ethelberta,  as  she  had  intended,  now  went  on 
further,  and  entering  the  nave  began  to  inspect  the 
sallow  monuments  which  lined  the  grizzled  pile.  She 
did  not  perceive  amid  the  shadows  an  old  gentleman 
who  had  crept  into  the  mouldy  place  as  stealthily  as  a 
worm  into  a  skull,  and  was  keeping  himself  carefully 
beyond  her  observation.  She  continued  to  regard 
feature  after  feature  till  the  choristers  had  filed  in  from 
the  south  side,  and  peals  broke  forth  from  the  organ 
on  the  black  oaken  mass  at  the  junction  of  nave  and 
choir,  shaking  every  cobweb  in  the  dusky  vaults, 
and  Ethelberta's  heart  no  less.  She  knew  the  fingers 
that  were  pressing  out  those  rolling  sounds,  and 
knowing  them,  became  absorbed  in  tracing  their 
progress.  To  go  towards  the  organ-loft  was  an  act 
of  unconsciousness,  and  she  did  not  pause  till  she 
stood  almost  beneath  it. 

Ethelberta  was  awakened  from  vague  imaginings 
by  the  close  approach  of  the  old  gentleman  alluded  to, 
who  spoke  with  a  great  deal  of  agitation. 

*  I  have  been  trying  to  meet  with  you,'  said  Lord 
Mountclere.  '  Come,  let  us  be  friends  again  ! — Ethel- 
berta, I  m7tst  not  lose  you  !  You  cannot  mean 
that  the  engagement  shall  be  broken  off  .-^ '  He  was 
far  too  desirous  to  possess  her  at  any  price  now  to 
run  a  second  risk  of  exasperating  her,  and  forbore  to 
make  any  allusion  to  the  recent  pantomime  between 
herself  and  Christopher  that  he  had  beheld,  though  it 
might  reasonably  have  filled  him  with  dread  and 
petulance. 

*  I  do  not  mean  anything  beyond  this,'  said  she, 
*  that  I  entirely  withdraw  from  it  on  the  faintest  sign 

348 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

that  you  have  not  abandoned  such  miserable  jealous 
proceedings  as  those  you  adopted  to-day.' 

'  I  have  quite  abandoned  them.  Will  you  come  a 
little  further  this  way,  and  walk  in  the  aisle  ?  You  do 
still  agree  to  be  mine  ? ' 

•  If  it  gives  you  any  pleasure,  I  do.' 

'Yes,  yes.  I  implore  that  the  marriage  may  be 
soon — very  soon.'  The  viscount  spoke  hastily,  for 
the  notes  of  the  organ  which  were  plunging  into  their 
ears  ever  and  anon  from  the  hands  of  his  young  rival 
seemed  inconveniently  and  solemnly  in  the  way  of 
his  suit. 

'  Well,  Lord  Mountclere  ? ' 

'  Say  in  a  few  days  ? — it  is  the  only  thing  that  will 
satisfy  me.' 

'  I  am  absolutely  indifferent  as  to  the  day.  If  it 
pleases  you  to  have  it  early  I  am  willing.' 

'  Dare  I  ask  that  it  may  be  this  week  ? '  said  the 
delighted  old  man. 

'  I  could  not  say  that. 

•  But  vou  can  name  the  earliest  dav  ?  * 

•  I  cannot  now.  We  had  better  be  going  from 
here,  I  think.' 

The  Cathedral  was  filling  with  shadows,  and  cold 
breathings  came  round  the  piers,  for  it  was  November, 
when  night  very  soon  succeeds  noon  in  spots  where 
noon  is  sobered  to  the  pallor  of  eve.  But  the  service 
was  not  yet  over,  and  before  quite  leaving  the  building 
Ethelberta  cast  one  other  glance  towards  the  organ 
and  thought  of  him  behind  it.  At  this  moment  her 
attention  was  arrested  by  the  form  of  her  sister  Picotee, 
who  came  in  at  the  north  door,  closed  the  lobby-wicket 
softly,  and  went  lightly  forward  to  the  choir.  When 
within  a  few  yards  of  it  she  paused  by  a  pillar,  and 
lingered  there  looking  up  at  the  organ  as  Ethelberta 
had  done.  No  sound  was  coming  from  the  ponderous 
mass  of  tubes  just  then  ;  but  in  a  short  space  a  whole 
crowd  of  tones  spread  from  the  instrument  to  accom- 
pany the  words  of  a  response.      Picotee  started  at  the 

349 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

burst  of  music  as  if  taken  in  a  dishonest  action,  and 
moved  on  in  a  manner  intended  to  efface  the  lover's 
loiter  of  the  preceding  moments  from  her  own  con- 
sciousness no  less  than  from  other  people's  eyes. 

*  Do  you  see  that  ? '  said  Ethelberta.  '  That  little 
figure  is  my  dearest  sister.  Could  you  but  ensure  a 
marriage  between  her  and  him  she  listens  to,  I  would 
do  anything  you  wish  ! ' 

'That  is  indeed  a  gracious  promise,'  said  Lord 
Mountclere.  *  And  would  you  agree  to  what  I  asked 
just  now  ? ' 

'Yes.* 

*  When  ? '     A  gleeful  spark  accompanied  this. 

*  As  you  requested.' 

*  This  week  ?     The  day  after  to-morrow  ?  * 

*  If  you  will.  But  remember  what  lies  on  your 
side  of  the  contract.  I  fancy  I  have  given  you  a  task 
beyond  your  powers.' 

'Well,  darling,  we  are  at  one  at  last,'  said  Lord 
Mountclere,  rubbinof  his  hand  against  his  side.  *  And 
if  my  task  is  heavy  and  I  cannot  guarantee  the  result, 
I  can  make  it  very  probable.  Marry  me  on  Friday 
— the  day  after  to-morrow — and  I  will  do  all  that 
money  and  influence  can  effect  to  bring  about  their 
union.' 

'  You  solemnly  promise  ?  You  will  never  cease  to 
give  me  all  the  aid  in  your  power  until  the  thing  is 
done  ? * 

'  I  do  solemnly  promise — on  the  conditions  named.' 

*  Very  good.  You  will  have  ensured  my  fulfilment 
of  my  promise  before  I  can  ensure  yours  ;  but  I  take 
your  word.' 

*  You  will  marry  me  on  Friday !  Give  me  your 
hand  upon  it.' 

She  gave  him  her  hand. 

'  Is  it  a  covenant  ? '  he  asked. 

*  It  is,'  said  she. 

Lord  Mountclere  warmed  from  surface  to  centre 
as  if  he  had  drunk  of  hippocras,  and,  after  holding 

330 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

her  hand  for  some  moments,  raised  it  gently  to  his 
lips. 

'  Two  days  and  you  are  mine,'  he  said, 

*  That  I  believe  I  never  shall  be.' 

*  Never  shall  be  ?     Why,  darling  ?  * 

'  I  don't  know.  Some  catastrophe  will  prevent  it. 
I  shall  be  dead  perhaps.' 

'You  distress  me.  Ah, — you  meant  me — you 
meant  that  I  should  be  dead,  because  you  think  I  am 
old  !     But  that  is  a  mistake — I  am  not  very  old  ! ' 

*  I  thought  only  of  myself — nothing  of  you.' 
'Yes,  I   know.      Dearest,  it  is  dismal  and  chilling 

here — let  us  go.' 

Ethelberta  mechanically  moved  with  him,  and  felt 
there  was  no  retreating  now.  In  the  meantime  the 
young  ladykin  whom  the  solemn  vowing  concerned 
had  lingered  round  the  choir  screen,  as  if  fearing  to 
enter,  yet  loth  to  go  away.  The  service  terminated, 
the  heavy  books  were  closed,  doors  were  opened,  and 
the  feet  of  the  few  persons  who  had  attended  evensong 
began  pattering  down  the  paved  alleys.  Not  wishing 
Picotee  to  know  that  the  object  of  her  secret  excursion 
had  been  discovered,  Ethelberta  now  stepped  out  of 
the  west  doorway  with  the  viscount  before  Picotee  had 
emerged  from  the  other  ;  and  they  walked  along  the 
path  together  until  she  overtook  them. 

*  I  fear  It  becomes  necessary  for  me  to  stay  in  Mel- 
chester  to-night,'  said  Lord  Mountclere.  '  I  have  a 
few  matters  to  attend  to  here,  as  the  result  of  our 
arrangements.  But  I  will  first  accompany  you  as  far 
as  Anglebury,  and  see  you  safely  Into  a  carriage  there 
that  shall  take  you  home.  To-morrow  I  will  drive  to 
Knollsea,  when  we  will  make  the  final  preparations.' 

Ethelberta  would  not  have  him  go  so  far  and  back 
again,  merely  to  attend  upon  her  ;  hence  they  parted 
at  the  railway,  with  due  and  correct  tenderness  ;  and 
when  the  train  had  gone,  Lord  Mountclere  returned 
into  the  town  on  the  special  business  he  had  mentioned, 
for  which  there  remained  only  the  present  evening  and 

351 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  following  morning,  if  he  were  to  call  upon  her  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  next  day — the  day  before  the 
wedding — now  so  recklessly  hastened  on  his  part,  and 
so  coolly  assented  to  on  hers. 

By  the  time  that  the  two  young  people  had  started 
It  was  nearly  dark.  Some  portions  of  the  railway 
stretched  through  little  copses  and  plantations  where, 
the  leaf-shedding  season  being  now  at  its  height,  red 
and  golden  patches  of  fallen  foliage  lay  on  either  side 
of  the  rails  ;  and  as  the  travellers  passed,  all  these 
death-stricken  bodies  boiled  up  in  the  whirlwind  created 
by  the  velocity,  and  were  sent  flying  right  and  left  of 
them  in  myriads,  a  clean-fanned  track  being  left  behind. 

Picotee  was  called  from  the  observation  of  these 
phenomena  by  a  remark  from  her  sister  :  '  Picotee,  the 
marriage  is  to  be  very  early  indeed.  It  is  to  be  the 
day  after  to-morrow — if  it  can.  Nevertheless  I  don't 
believe  in  the  fact — I  cannot.' 

*  Did  you  arrange  it  so  ?  Nobody  can  make  you 
marry  so  soon.' 

'  I  agreed  to  the  day,'  murmured  Ethelberta 
languidly. 

'  How  can  it  be  ?  The  gay  dresses  and  the  prepara- 
tions and  the  people — how  can  they  be  collected  in  the 
time,  Berta  ?  And  so  much  more  of  that  will  be  re- 
quired for  a  lord  of  the  land  than  for  a  common  man. 
O,  I  can't  think  it  possible  for  a  sister  of  mine  to  marry 
a  lord ! ' 

*  And  yet  it  has  been  possible  any  time  this  last 
month  or  two,  strange  as  it  seems  to  you.  .  .  .  It  is  to 
be  not  only  a  plain  and  simple  wedding,  without  any 
lofty  appliances,  but  a  secret  one — as  secret  as  if  I  were 
some  under-age  heiress  to  an  Indian  fortune,  and  he  a 
young  man  of  nothing  a  year.' 

*  Has  Lord  Mountclere  said  it  must  be  so  private? 
I  suppose  it  is  on  account  of  his  family.' 

'  Xo.  I  say  so  ;  and  it  is  on  account  of  my  family. 
Father  might  object  to  the  wedding,  I  imagine,  from 
what  he  once  said,  or  he  might   be  much  disturbed 

352 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

about  it ;  so  I  think  it  better  that  he  and  the  rest  should 
know  nothing  till  all  is  over.  You  must  dress  again  as 
my  sister  to-morrow,  dear.  Lord  Mountclere  is  going 
to  pay  us  an  early  visit  to  conclude  necessary  arrange- 
ments.' 

*  O,  the  life  as  a  lady  at  Enckworth  Court!  The 
flowers,  the  woods,  the  rooms,  the  pictures,  the  plate, 
and  the  jewels !  Horses  and  carriages  rattling  and 
prancing,  seneschals  and  pages,  footmen  hopping  up 
and  hopping  down.      It  will  be  glory  then  !  ' 

'  We  might  hire  our  father  as  one  of  my  retainers 
to  increase  it,'  said  Ethelberta  drily. 

Picotee's  countenance  fell.  *  How  shall  we  manage 
all  about  that  ?     'Tis  terrible,  really ! ' 

*  The  marriage  granted,  those  things  will  right 
themselves  by  time  and  weight  of  circumstances.  You 
take  a  wrong  view  in  thinking  of  glories  of  that  sort. 
My  only  hope  is  that  my  life  will  be  quite  private  and 
simple,  as  will  best  become  my  inferiority  and  Lord 
Mountclere's  staidness.  Such  a  splendid  library  as 
there  is  at  Enckworth,  Picotee — quartos,  folios,  history, 
verse,  Elzevirs,  Caxtons — all  that  has  been  done  in 
literature  from  Moses  down  to  Scott — with  such  com- 
panions I  can  do  without  all  other  sorts  of  happiness.' 

'  And  you  will  not  go  to  town  from  Easter  to 
Lammastide,  as  other  noble  ladies  do  ? '  asked  the 
younger  girl,  rather  disappointed  at  this  aspect  of  a 
viscountess's  life. 

'  I  don't  know.' 

*  But  you  will  give  dinners,  and  travel,  and  go  to 
see  his  friends,  and  have  them  to  see  you  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know.' 

'  Will  you  not  be,  then,  as  any  other  peeress  ;  and 
shall  not  I  be  as  any  other  peeress's  sister  ? ' 

'  That,  too,  I  do  not  know.  All  is  mvsterv.  Nor 
do  I  even  know  that  the  marriage  will  take  place.  I 
feel  that  it  may  not ;  and  perhaps  so  much  the  better, 
since  the  man  is  a  stranger  to  me,  I  know  nothing 
whatever  of  his  nature,  and  he  knows  nothing  of  mine/ 

353 


MELCHESTER  {continued) 

XL 

The  commotion  wrought  in  Julian's  mind  by  the 
abrupt  incursion  of  Ethelberta  into  his  quiet  sphere  was 
thorough  and  protracted.  The  witchery  of  her  presence 
he  had  grown  strong  enough  to  withstand  in  part ;  but 
her  composed  announcement  that  she  had  intended  to 
marry  another,  and,  as  far  as  he  could  understand,  was 
intending  it  still,  added  a  new  chill  to  the  old  shade  of 
disappointment  which  custom  was  day  by  day  enabling 
him  to  endure.  During  the  whole  interval  in  which  he 
had  produced  those  diapason  blasts,  heard  with  such 
inharmonious  feelings  by  the  three  auditors  outside  the 
screen,  his  thoughts  had  wandered  wider  than  his  notes 
in  conjectures  on  the  character  and  position  of  the 
gentleman  seen  in  Ethelberta  s  company.  Owing  to 
his  assumption  that  Lord  Mountclere  was  but  a  stranger 
who  had  accidentally  come  in  at  the  side  door,  Chris- 
topher had  barely  cast  a  glance  upon  him,  and  the  wide 
difference  between  the  years  of  the  viscount  and  those 
of  his  betrothed  was  not  so  particularly  observed  as  to 
raise  that  point  to  an  item  in  his  objections  now.  Lord 
Mountclere  was  dressed  with  all  the  cunning  that  could 
be  drawn  from  the  metropolis  by  money  and  reiterated 
dissatisfaction  ;  he  prided  himself  on  his  upright 
carriage  ;  his  stick  was  so  thin  that  the  most  malevolent 
could  not  insinuate  that  it  was  of  any  possible  use  in 
walking  ;  his  teeth  had  put  on  all  the  vigour  and  fresh- 
ness of  a  second  spring.     Hence  his  look  was   the 

354 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

slowest  of  possible  clocks  in  respect  of  his  age,  and  his 
manner  was  equally  as  much  in  the  rear  of  his  appear- 
ance. 

Christopher  was  now  over  seven-and-twenty.  He 
was  getting  so  well  accustomed  to  the  spectacle  of  a 
world  passing  him  by  and  splashing  him  with  its  wheels 
that  he  wondered  why  he  had  ever  minded  it.  His 
habit  of  dreaming  instead  of  doing  had  led  him  up  to 
a  curious  discovery.  It  is  no  new  thing  for  a  man  to 
fathom  profundities  by  indulging  humours  :  the  active, 
the  rapid,  the  people  of  splendid  momentum,  have  been 
surprised  to  behold  what  results  attend  the  lives  of 
those  whose  usual  plan  for  discharging  their  active 
labours  has  been  to  postpone  them  indefinitely. 
Certainly,  the  immediate  result  in  the  present  case  was, 
to  all  but  himself,  small  and  invisible ;  but  it  was  of 
the  nature  of  highest  things.  What  he  had  learnt  was 
that  a  woman  who  has  once  made  a  permanent  im- 
pression upon  a  man  cannot  altogether  deny  him  her 
image  by  denying  him  her  company,  and  that  by 
sedulously  cultivating  the  acquaintance  of  this  Creature 
of  Contemplation  she  becomes  to  him  almost  a  living 
soul.  Hence  a  sublimated  Ethelberta  accompanied 
him  everywhere — one  who  never  teased  him,  eluded 
him,  or  disappointed  him  :  when  he  smiled  she  smiled, 
when  he  was  sad  she  sorrowed.  He  may  be  said  to 
have  become  the  literal  duplicate  of  that  whimsical 
unknown  rhapsodist  who  wrote  of  his  own  similar 
situation — 

By  absence  this  good  means  I  gain, 

That  I  can  catch  her, 

Where  none  can  watch  her, 
In  some  close  corner  of  my  brain : 

There  I  embrace  and  kiss  her ; 

And  so  I  both  enjoy  and  miss  her. 

This  frame  of  mind  naturally  induced  an  amazing 
abstraction  in  the  organist,  never  very  vigilant  at  the 
best  of  times.  He  would  stand  and  look  fixedly  at 
a   frog   in   a   shady   pool,  and    never   once   think   of 

355 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

batrachlans,  or  pause  by  a  green  bank  to  split  some  tall 
blade  of  grass  into  filaments  without  removing  it  from 
its  stalk,  passing  on  ignorant  that  he  had  made  a  cat- 
o'-nine-tails  of  a  graceful  slip  of  vegetation.  He  would 
hear  the  cathedral  clock  strike  one,  and  go  the  next 
minute  to  see  what  time  it  was.  '  I  never  seed  such  a 
man  as  Mr.  Julian  is,'  said  the  head  blower.  '  He'll 
meet  me  anywhere  out-of-doors,  and  never  wink  or 
nod.  You'd  hardly  expect  it.  I  don't  find  fault,  but 
you'd  hardly  expect  it,  seeing  how  I  play  the  same 
instrument  as  he  do  himself,  and  have  done  it  for  so 
many  years  longer  than  he.  How  I  have  indulged 
that  man,  too!  If  'tis  Pedals  for  two  martel  hours  of 
practice  I  never  complain  ;  and  he  has  plenty  of 
vao^aries.  When  'tis  hot  summer  weather  there's 
nothing  will  do  for  him  but  Choir,  Great,  and  Swell 
altogether,  till  yer  face  is  in  a  vapour ;  and  on  a  frosty 
winter  night  he'll  keep  me  there  while  he  tweedles 
upon  the  Dulcianner  till  my  arms  be  scrammed  for  want 
of  motion.  And  never  speak  a  word  out-of-doors.* 
Somebody  suggested  that  perhaps  Christopher  did 
not  notice  his  coadjutor's  presence  in  the  street ;  and 
time  proved  to  the  organ-blower  that  the  remark  was 
just. 

Whenever  Christopher  caught  himself  at  these 
vacuous  tricks  he  w^ould  be  struck  with  admiration  of 
Ethelberta's  wisdom,  foresight,  and  self-command  in 
refusing  to  wed  such  an  incapable  man  :  he  felt  that 
he  ought  to  be  thankful  that  a  bright  memory  of  her 
was  not  also  denied  to  him,  and  resolved  to  be  content 
with  it  as  a  possession,  since  it  was  as  much  of  her  as 
he  could  decently  maintain. 

Wrapped  thus  in  a  humorous  sadness  he  passed  the 
afternoon  under  notice,  and  in  the  evening  went  home 
to  Faith,  who  still  lived  with  him,  and  showed  no  sign 
of  ever  being  likely  to  do  otherwise.  Their  present 
place  and  mode  of  life  suited  her  well.  She  revived 
at  Melchester  like  an  exotic  sent  home  again.  The 
leafy    Close,   the   climbing   buttresses,   the   pondering 

356 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

ecclesiastics,  the  great  doors,  the  singular  keys,  the 
whispered  talk,  echoes  of  lonely  footsteps,  the  sunset 
shadow  of  the  tall  steeple,  reaching  further  into  the 
town  than  the  good  bishop's  teaching,  and  the  general 
complexion  of  a  spot  w^iere  morning  had  the  stillness 
of  evening  and  spring  some  of  the  tones  of  autumn, 
formed  a  proper  background  to  a  person  constituted 
as  Faith,  who,  like  Miss  Hepzibah  Pyncheon's  chicken, 
possessed  in  miniature  all  the  antiquity  of  her  pro- 
genitors. 

After  tea  Christopher  went  into  the  streets,  as  was 
frequently  his  custom,  less  to  see  how  the  world  crept 
on  there  than  to  walk  up  and  down  for  nothing  at  all. 
It  had  been  market-day,  and  remnants  of  the  rural 
population  that  had  visited  the  town  still  lingered  at 
corners,  their  toes  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  pave- 
ment, and  their  eyes  wandering  about  the  street. 

The  angle  which  formed  the  turning  -  point  of 
Christopher's  promenade  was  occupied  by  a  jeweller's 
shop,  of  a  standing  which  completely  outshone  every 
other  shop  in  that  or  any  trade  throughout  the  town. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  staple  subject  of  discussion  in 
IMelchester  how  a  shop  of  such  pretensions  could  find 
patronage  sufficient  to  support  its  existence  in  a  place 
which,  though  w^ell  populated,  was  not  fashionable.  It 
had  not  longf  been  established  there,  and  was  the 
enterprise  of  an  incoming  man  whose  whole  course  of 
procedure  seemed  to  be  dictated  by  an  intention  to 
astonish  the  native  citizens  very  considerably  before 
he  had  done.  Nearly  everything  was  glass  in  the 
frontage  of  this  fairy  mart,  and  its  contents  glittered 
like  the  hammochrysos  stone.  The  panes  being  of 
plate-glass,  and  the  shop  having  two  fronts,  a  diagonal 
view  could  be  had  through  it  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  streets  to  which  it  formed  a  corner. 

This  evening,  as  on  all  evenings,  a  flood  of  radiance 
spread  from  the  window-lamps  into  the  thick  autumn 
air,  so  that  from  a  distance  that  corner  appeared  as 
the    Qlisteninor  nucleus  of  all    the  Yi^ht   in  the  town. 

357 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Towards  it  idle  men  and  women  unconsciously  bent 
their  steps,  and  closed  in  upon  the  panes  like  night- 
birds  upon  the  lantern  of  a  lighthouse. 

When  Christopher  reached  the  spot  there  stood 
close  to  the  pavement  a  plain  close  carriage,  apparently 
waiting  for  some  person  who  was  purchasing  inside. 
Christopher  would  hardly  have  noticed  this  had  he  not 
also  perceived,  pressed  against  the  glass  of  the  shop 
window,  an  unusual  number  of  local  noses  belonging 
to  overgrown  working  lads,  tosspots,  an  idiot,  the 
ham-smoker's  assistant  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  a 
scot-and-lot  freeholder,  three  or  four  seamstresses,  the 
young  woman  who  brought  home  the  washing,  and  so 
on.  The  interest  of  these  gazers  in  some  proceedings 
within,  which  by  reason  of  the  gaslight  were  as  public 
as  if  carried  on  in  the  open  air,  was  very  great. 

*  Yes,  that's  what  he's  a  buying  o' — haw,  haw ! ' 
said  one  of  the  young  men,  as  the  shopman  removed 
from  the  window  a  gorgeous  blue  velvet  tray  of 
wedding-rings,  and  laid  it  on  the  counter. 

'  'Tis  what  you  may  come  to  yerself,  sooner  or  later, 
God  have  mercy  upon  ye  ;  and  as  such  no  scoffing 
matter,'  said  an  older  man,  'Faith,  I'd  as  lief  cry  as 
laugh  to  see  a  man  in  that  corner.' 

'He's  a  gent  getting  up  in  years  too.  He  must 
hev  been  through  it  a  few  times  afore,  seemingly,  to 
sit  down  and  buy  the  tools  so  cool  as  that.' 

'Well,  no.  See  what  the  shyest  will  do  at  such 
times.  You  hain't  yerself  then ;  no  man  living  is 
hisself  then.' 

'True,'  said  the  ham  -  smoker's  man.  ''Tis  a 
thought  to  look  at  that  a  chap  will  take  all  this  trouble 
to  get  a  woman  into  his  house,  and  a  twelvemonth 
after  would  as  soon  hear  it  thunder  as  hear  her  sing ! ' 

The  policeman  standing  near  was  a  humane  man, 
through  having  a  young  family  he  could  hardly  keep  ; 
and  he  hesitated  about  telling  them  to  move  on. 
Christopher  had  before  this  time  perceived  that  the 
articles  were  laid  down  before  an  old  gentleman  who 

358 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

was  seated  in  the  shop,  and  that  the  gentleman  was 
none  other  than  he  who  had  been  with  Ethelberta  in 
the  concert -room.  The  discovery  was  so  startling 
that,  constitutionally  indisposed  as  he  was  to  stand 
and  watch,  he  became  as  glued  to  the  spot  as  the 
other  idlers.  Finding  himself  now  for  the  first  time 
directly  confronting  the  preliminaries  of  Ethelberta's 
marriage  to  a  stranger,  he  was  left  with  far  less 
equanimity  than  he  could  have  supposed  possible  to 
the  situation. 

*  So  near  the  time ! '  he  said,  and  looked  hard  at 
Lord  Mountclere. 

Christopher  had  now  a  far  better  opportunity 
than  before  for  observing  Ethelberta's  betrothed. 
Apart  from  any  bias  of  jealousy,  disappointment,  or 
mortification,  he  was  led  to  judge  that  this  was  not 
quite  the  man  to  make  Ethelberta  happy.  He  had 
fancied  her  companion  to  be  a  man  under  fifty  ;  he 
was  now  visibly  sixty  or  more.  And  it  was  not  the 
sort  of  sexagenarianism  beside  which  a  young  woman's 
happiness  can  sometimes  contrive  to  keep  itself  alive 
in  a  quiet  sleepy  way.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him 
that  this  was  the  man  whom  he  had  helped  in  the 
carriage  accident  on  the  way  to  Knollsea.  He  looked 
again. 

By  no  means  undignified,  the  face  presented  that 
combination  of  slyness  and  jocundity  which  we  are 
accustomed  to  imagine  of  the  canonical  jolly-dogs  in 
mediaeval  tales.  The  gamesome  Curate  of  Meudon 
might  have  supplied  some  parts  of  the  countenance  ; 
cunning  Friar  Tuck  the  remainder.  Nothing  but  the 
viscount's  constant  habit  of  going  to  church  every 
Sunday  morning  when  at  his  country  residence  kept 
unholiness  out  of  his  features,  for  though  he  lived 
theologically  enough  on  the  Sabbath,  as  it  became  a 
man  in  his  position  to  do,  he  was  strikingly  mundane 
all  the  rest  of  the  week,  always  preferring  the  devil  to 
God  in  his  oaths.  And  nothing  but  antecedent  good^ 
humour  prevented  the  short  fits  of  crossness  incident 

359 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

to  his  passing  infirmities  from  becoming  established. 
His  look  was  exceptionally  jovial  now,  and  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  twitched  as  the  telegraph-needles  of  a 
hundred  little  erotic  messages  from  his  heart  to  his 
brain.  Anybody  could  see  that  he  was  a  merry  man 
still,  who  loved  good  company,  warming  drinks, 
nymph-like  shapes,  and  pretty  words,  in  spite  of  the 
disagreeable  suggestions  he  received  from  the  pupils 
of  his  eyes,  and  the  joints  of  his  lively  limbs,  that 
imps  of  mischief  were  busy  sapping  and  mining  in 
those  regions,  with  the  view  of  tumbling  him  into  a 
certain  cool  cellar  under  the  church  aisle. 

In  general,  if  a  lover  can  find  any  ground  at  all  for 
serenity  in  the  tide  of  an  elderly  rival's  success,  he 
finds  it  in  the  fact  itself  of  that  ancientness.  The 
other  side  seems  less  a  rival  than  a  makeshift.  But 
Christopher  no  longer  felt  this,  and  the  significant 
signs  before  his  eyes  of  the  imminence  nf  Ethelberta's 
union  with  this  old  hero  filled  him  with  restless  dread. 
True,  the  gentleman,  as  he  appeared  illuminated  by 
the  jeweller's  gas-jets,  seemed  more  likely  to  injure 
Ethelberta  by  indulgence  than  by  severity,  while  her 
beauty  lasted  ;  but  there  was  a  nameless  something  in 
him  less  tolerable  than  this. 

The  purchaser  having  completed  his  dealings  with 
the  goldsmith,  was  conducted  to  the  door  by  the 
master  of  the  shop,  and  into  the  carriage,  which  was 
at  once  driven  off  up  the  street. 

Christopher  now  much  desired  to  know  the  name  of 
the  man  whom  a  nice  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence 
taught  him  to  regard  as  the  happy  winner  where  scores 
had  lost.  He  was  grieved  that  Ethelberta's  confessed 
reserve  should  have  extended  so  far  as  to  limit  her  to 
mere  indefinite  hints  of  marriage  when  they  were 
talking  almost  on  the  brink  of  the  wedding  -  day. 
That  the  ceremony  was  to  be  a  private  one — which  it 
probably  would  be  because  of  the  disparity  of  ages — 
did  not  in  his  opinion  justify  her  secrecy.  He  had 
shown  himself  capable  of  a  transmutation  as  valuable 

360 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

as  it  is  rare  in  men,  the  change  from  pestering  lover 
to  staunch  friend,  and  this  was  all  he  had  got  for  it. 
But  even  an  old  lover  sunk  to  an  indifferentist  miorht 
have  been  tempted  to  spend  an  unoccupied  half-hour 
in  discovering  particulars  now,  and  Christopher  had 
not  lapsed  nearly  so  far  as  to  absolute  unconcern. 

That  evening,  however,  nothing  came  in  his  way 
to  enlighten  him.  But  the  next  day,  when  skirting 
the  Close  on  his  ordinary  duties,  he  saw  the  same 
carriage  standing  at  a  distance,  and  paused  to  behold 
the  same  old  gentleman  come  from  a  well-known  office 
and  re-enter  the  vehicle — Lord  Mountclere,  in  fact,  in 
earnest  pursuit  of  the  business  of  yesternight,  having 
just  pocketed  a  document  in  which  romance,  rashness, 
law,  and  gospel  are  so  happily  made  to  work  together 
that  it  may  safely  be  regarded  as  the  neatest  com- 
promise which  has  ever  been  invented  since  Adam 
sinned. 

This  time  Julian  perceived  that  the  brougham  was 
one  belonging  to  the  White  Hart  Hotel,  which  Lord 
Mountclere  was  using  partly  from  the  necessities  of 
these  hasty  proceedings,  and  also  because,  by  so  doing, 
he  escaped  the  not'ce  that  might  have  been  bestowed 
upon  his  own  equipage,  or  men-servants,  the  Mount- 
clere hammer  -  cloths  being  known  in  Melchester. 
Christopher  now  walked  towards  the  hotel,  leisurely, 
yet  with  anxiety.  He  inquired  of  a  porter  what  people 
were  staying  there  that  day,  and  was  informed  that 
they  had  only  one  person  in  the  house,  Lord  Mount- 
clere, whom  sudden  and  unexpected  business  had 
detained  in  Melchester  since  the  previous  day. 

Christopher  lingered  to  hear  no  more.  He  re- 
traced the  street  much  more  quickly  than  he  had 
come  ;  and  he  only  said,  '  Lord  Mountclere — it  must 
never  be ! ' 

As  soon  as  he  entered  the  house.  Faith  perceived 
that  he  was  greatly  agitated.  He  at  once  told  her  of 
his  discovery,  and  she  exclaimed,  *  What  a  brilliant 
match ! ' 

I  361 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*0  Faith,'  said  Christopher,  'you  don't  know! 
You  are  far  from  knowing.  It  is  as  gloomy  as  mid- 
night.    Good  God,  can  it  be  possible  ? ' 

Faith  blinked  in  alarm,  without  speaking. 

*  Did  you  never  hear  anything  of  Lord  Mountclere 
when  we  lived  at  Sandbourne  ? ' 

*  I  knew  the  name — no  more.' 

*  No,  no — of  course  you  did  not.  Well,  though  I 
never  saw  his  face,  to  my  knowledge,  till  a  short  time 
ago,  I  know  enough  to  say  that,  if  earnest  representa- 
tions can  prevent  it,  this  marriage  shall  not  be.  Father 
knew  him,  or  about  him,  very  well  ;  and  he  once  told 
me — what  I  cannot  tell  you.  Fancy,  I  have  seen  him 
three  times — yesterday,  last  night,  and  this  morning — 
besides  helping  him  on  the  road  some  weeks  ago,  and 
never  once  considered  that  he  might  be  Lord  Mount- 
clere. He  is  here  almost  in  disguise,  one  may  say  ; 
neither  man  nor  horse  is  with  him  ;  and  his  object 
accounts  for  his  privacy.  I  see  how  it  is — she  is  doing 
this  to  benefit  her  brothers  and  sisters,  if  possible  ;  but 
she  ought  to  know  that  if  she  is  miserable  they  will 
never  be  happy.  That's  the  nature  of  women — they 
take  the  form  for  the  essence,  and  that's  what  she  is 
doing  now.  I  should  think  her  guardian  angel  must 
have  quitted  her  when  she  agreed  to  a  marriage  which 
may  tear  her  heart  out  like  a  claw.' 

'  You  are  too  warm  about  it,  Kit — it  cannot  be  so 
bad  as  that.  It  is  not  the  thing,  but  the  sensitiveness 
to  the  thing,  which  is  the  true  measure  of  its  pain. 
Perhaps  what  seems  so  bad  to  you  falls  lightly  on  her 
mind.  A  campaigner  in  a  heavy  rain  is  not  more 
uncomfortable  than  we  are  in  a  slight  draught ;  and 
Ethelberta,  fortified  by  her  sapphires  and  gold  cups 
and  wax  candles,  will  not  mind  facts  which  look  like 
spectres  to  us  outside.  A  title  will  turn  troubles  into 
romances,  and  she  will  shine  as  an  interesting  vis- 
countess in  spite  of  them.' 

The  discussion  with  Faith  was  not  continued, 
Christopher  stopping  the  argument  by  saying  that  he 

362 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

had  a  good  mind  to  go  off  at  once  to  Knollsea,  and 
show  her  her  danger.  But  till  the  next  morning 
Ethelberta  was  certainly  safe ;  no  marriage  was 
possible  anywhere  before  then.  He  passed  the  after- 
noon in  a  state  of  great  indecision,  constantly  reiterat- 
ing, *  I  will  go  1 ' 


WORKSHOPS 

AN  INN 
THE  STREET 

XLI 

On  an  extensive  plot  of  ground,  lying  somewhere 
between  the  Thames  and  the  Kensington  squares, 
stood  the  premises  of  Messrs.  Nockett  &  Perch, 
builders  and  contractors.  The  yard  with  Its  work- 
shops formed  part  of  one  of  those  frontier  lines 
between  mangy  business  and  garnished  domesticity 
that  occur  In  what  are  called  Improving  neighbour- 
hoods. We  are  accustomed  to  regard  Increase  as  the 
chief  feature  in  a  great  city's  progress,  its  well-known 
signs  greeting  our  eyes  on  every  outskirt.  Slush- 
ponds  may  be  seen  turning  Into  basement-kitchens  ;  a 
broad  causeway  of  shattered  earthenware  smothers 
plots  of  budding  gooseberry-bushes  and  vegetable 
trenches,  foundations  following  so  closely  upon  gardens 
that  the  householder  may  be  expected  to  find 
cadaverous  sprouts  from  overlooked  potatoes  rising 
through  the  chinks  of  his  cellar  floor.  But  the  other 
great  process,  that  of  Internal  transmutation.  Is  not  less 
curious  than  this  encroachment  of  grey  upon  green. 
Its  first  erections  are  often  only  the  milk-teeth  of  a 
suburb,  and  as  the  district  rises  in  dignity  they  are 
dislodged  by  those  which  are  to  endure.  Slightness 
becomes  supplanted  by  comparative  solidity,  common- 
ness by  novelty,  lowness  and  irregularity  by  symmetry 
and  height. 

364 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

An  observer  of  the  precinct  which  has  been  named 
as  an  Instance  In  point  might  have  stood  under  a 
lamp-post  and  heard  simultaneously  the  peal  of  the 
visitor's  bell  from  the  new  terrace  on  the  right  hand, 
and  the  stroke  of  tools  from  the  musty  workshops  on 
the  left.  Waggons  laden  with  deals  came  up  on  this 
side,  and  landaus  came  down  on  the  other — the  former 
to  lumber  heavily  through  the  old-established  con- 
tractors' gates,  the  latter  to  sweep  fashionably  Into  the 
square. 

About  twelve  o'clock  on  the  day  following  Lord 
Mountclere's  exhibition  of  himself  to  Christopher  in 
the  jeweller's  shop  at  Melchester,  and  almost  at  the 
identical  time  when  the  viscount  was  seen  to  come 
from  the  office  for  marriage-licences  in  the  same  place, 
a  carriage  drove  nearly  up  to  the  gates  of  Messrs. 
Nockett  8z  Co.'s  yard.  A  gentleman  stepped  out  and 
looked  around.  He  was  a  man  whose  years  would 
have  been  pronounced  as  five-and-forty  by  the  friendly, 
fifty  by  the  candid,  fifty-two  or  three  by  the  grim. 
He  was  as  handsome  a  study  in  grey  as  could  be  seen 
in  town,  there  being  far  more  of  the  raven's  plumage 
than  of  the  gull's  in  the  mixture  as  yet ;  and  he  had  a 
glance  of  that  practised  sort  which  can  measure  people, 
WTigh  them,  repress  them,  encourage  them  to  sprout 
and  blossom  as  a  March  sun  encourages  crocuses,  ask 
them  questions,  give  them  answers — in  short,  a  glance 
that  could  do  as  many  things  as  an  American  cooking- 
stove  or  a  multum-In-parvo  pocket-knife.  But,  as 
w^Ith  most  men  of  the  world,  this  was  mere  mechanism  ; 
his  actual  emotions  were  kept  so  far  within  his  person 
that  they  were  rarely  heard  or  seen  near  his  features. 

On  reading  the  builders'  names  over  the  gateway 
he  entered  the  yard,  and  asked  at  the  office  If  Solomon 
Chlckerel  was  engaged  on  the  premises.  The  clerk 
was  going  to  be  very  attentive,  but  finding  the  visitor 
had  come  only  to  speak  to  a  workman,  his  tense 
attitude  slackened  a  little,  and  he  merelv  signified  the 
foot  of  a  Flemish  ladder  on  the  other  side  of  the  yard, 

365 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

saying,  *  You  will  find  him,  sir,  up  there  In  the  joiner's 
shop.* 

When  the  man  in  the  black  coat  reached  the  top 
he  found  himself  at  the  end  of  a  long  apartment  as 
large  as  a  chapel  and  as  low  as  a  malt-room,  across 
which  ran  parallel  carpenters'  benches  to  the  number 
of  twenty  or  more,  a  gangway  being  left  at  the  side  for 
access  throuQrhout.  Behind  every  bench  there  stood  a 
man  or  two,  planing,  fitting  or  chiselling,  as  the  case 
might  be.  The  visitor  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if 
waiting  for  some  cessation  of  their  violent  motions  and 
uproar  till  he  could  make  his  errand  known.  He 
waited  ten  seconds,  he  waited  twenty  ;  but,  beyond 
that  a  quick  look  had  been  thrown  upon  him  by  every 
pair  of  eyes,  the  muscular  performances  were  In  no 
way  Interrupted  :  every  one  seemed  oblivious  of  his 
presence,  and  absolutely  regardless  of  his  wish.  In 
truth,  the  texture  of  that  salmon-coloured  skin  could 
be  seen  to  be  aristocratic  without  a  microscope,  and 
the  exceptious  artizan  has  an  off-hand  way  w^hen 
contrasts  are  made  painfully  strong  by  an  idler  of  this 
kind  coming,  gloved  and  brushed,  into  the  very  den 
where  he  Is  sweating  and  muddling  In  his  shirt-sleeves. 

The  gentleman  from  the  carriage  then  proceeded 
down  the  workshop,  wading  up  to  his  knees  In  a  sea  of 
shavings,  and  bruising  his  ankles  against  corners  of 
board  and  sawn-off  blocks,  that  lay  hidden  like  reefs 
beneath.  At  the  ninth  bench  he  made  another 
venture. 

'  Sol  Chickerel  ? '  said  the  man  addressed,  as  he 
touched  his  plane-Iron  upon  the  oilstone.  '  He's  one 
of  them  just  behind.' 

*  Damn  It  all,  can't  one  of  you  show  me  ? '  the 
visitor  angrily  observed,  for  he  had  been  used  to  more 
attention  than  this.  *  Here,  point  him  out.'  He 
handed  the  man  a  shilling. 

'  No  trouble  to  do  that',  said  the  workman  ;  and  he 
turned  and  signified  Sol  by  a  nod  without  moving  from 
his  place. 

366 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

The  stranger  entered  Sol's  division,  and,  nailing 
him  with  his  eye,  said  at  once  :  '  I  want  to  speak  a  few 
words  with  you  in  private.  Is  not  a  Mrs.  Petherwin 
your  sister  ? ' 

Sol  started  suspiciously.  *  Has  anything  happened 
to  her  } '  he  at  length  said  hurriedly. 

*0  no.  It  is  on  a  business  matter  that  I  have 
called.  You  need  not  mind  owning  the  relationship  to 
me — the  secret  will  be  kept.  I  am  the  brother  of  one 
whom  you  may  have  heard  of  from  her — Lord  Mount- 
clere.' 

'  I  have  not.  But  if  you  will  wait  a  minute,  sir — ' 
He  went  to  a  little  glazed  box  at  the  end  of  the  shop, 
where  the  foreman  was  sitting,  and,  after  speaking  a 
few  words  to  this  person,  Sol  led  Mountclere  to  the 
door,  and  down  the  ladder. 

*  I  suppose  we  cannot  very  well  talk  here,  after  all  }  ' 
said  the  gentleman,  when  they  reached  the  yard,  and 
found  several  men  moving  about  therein. 

'  Perhaps   we   had  better  go   to   some    room — the 
nearest  inn  will  answer  the  purpose,  won't  it  ? ' 
'  Excellently.' 

*  There's  the  ''  Green  Bushes  "  over  the  way.  They 
have  a  very  nice  private  room  upstairs.' 

'Yes,  that  will  do.'  And  passing  out  of  the  yard, 
the  man  with  the  glance  entered  the  inn  with  Sol, 
where  they  were  shown  to  the  parlour  as  requested. 

While  the  waiter  was  gone  for  some  wine,  which 
Mountclere  ordered,  the  more  ingenuous  of  the  two 
resumed  the  conversation  by  saying,  awkwardly  :  '  Yes, 
Mrs.  Petherwin  is  my  sister,  as  you  supposed,  sir ;  but 
on  her  account  I  do  not  let  it  be  known.' 

*  Indeed,' said  Mountclere.  'Well,  I  came  to  see 
you  in  order  to  speak  of  a  matter  which  I  thought  you 
might  know  more  about  than  I  do,  for  it  has  taken  me 
quite  by  surprise.  My  brother.  Lord  Mountclere,  is, 
it  seems,  to  be  privately  married  to  Mrs.  Petherwin  to- 
morrow.* 

'  Is  that  really  the  fact?'  said  Sol,  becoming  quite 

367 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

shaken.  '  I  had  no  thought  that  such  a  thing  could  be 
possible ! ' 

*  It  is  imminent' 

'  Father  has  told  me  that  she  has  lately  got  to  know 
some  nobleman  ;  but  I  never  supposed  there  could  be 
any  meaning  in  that.' 

'You  were  altogether  wrong,'  said  Mountclere, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  looking  at  Sol  steadily. 

*  Do  you  feel  it  to  be  a  matter  upon  which  you  will 
congratulate  her  ?  * 

A  very  different  thing ! '  said  Sol  vehemently. 
'  Though  he  is  your  brother,  sir,  I  must  say  this,  that  I 
would  rather  she  married  the  poorest  man  I  know.' 

'Why.?' 

'  From  what  my  father  has  told  me  of  him,  he  is 
not — a  more  desirable  brother-in-law  to  me  than  I 
shall  be  in  all  likelihood  to  him.  What  business  has  a 
man  of  that  character  to  marry  Berta,  I  should  like 
to  ask  ? ' 

'  That's  what  I  say,'  returned  Mountclere,  revealing 
his  satisfaction  at  Sol  s  estimate  of  his  noble  brother : 
it  showed  that  he  had  calculated  well  in  coming  here. 

*  My  brother  is  getting  old,  and  he  has  lived  strangely : 
your  sister  is  a  highly  respectable  young  lady.' 

'  And  he  is  not  respectable,  you  mean  ?  I  know  he 
is  not.      I  worked  near  Enckworth  once.' 

'  I  cannot  say  that,'  returned  Mountclere.  Possibly 
a  certain  fraternal  feeling  repressed  a  direct  assent : 
and  yet  this  was  the  only  representation  which  could  be 
expected  to  prejudice  the  young  man  against  the 
wedding,  if  he  were  such  an  one  as  the  visitor  supposed 
Sol  to  be — a  man  vulgar  in  sentiment  and  ambition, 
but  pure  in  his  anxiety  for  his  sister's  happiness.  '  At 
any  rate,  we  are  agreed  in  thinking  that  this  would  be 
an  unfortunate  marriage  for  both,'  added  Mountclere. 

'About  both  I  don't  know.  It  may  be  a  good 
thing  for  him.  When  do  you  say  it  is  to  be,  sir — to- 
morrow ?  * 

'Yes.' 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  I  don't  know  what  to  do ! '  said  Sol,  walking  up 
and  down.  '  If  half  what  I  have  heard  is  true,  I  would 
lose  a  winter's  work  to  prevent  her  marrying  him. 
What  does  she  want  to  go  mixing  in  with  people  who 
despise  her  for  ?  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Mountclere,  since 
you  have  been  and  called  me  out  to  talk  this  over,  it  is 
only  fair  that  you  should  tell  me  the  exact  truth  about 
your  brother.  Is  it  a  lie,  or  is  it  true,  that  he  is  not  fit 
to  be  the  husband  of  a  decent  woman  ? ' 

'That  is  a  curious  inquiry,'  said  Mountclere,  whose 
manner  and  aspect,  neutral  as  a  winter  landscape,  had 
little  in  common  with  Sol's  warm  and  unrestrained 
bearing.  '  There  are  reasons  why  I  think  your  sister 
will  not  be  happy  with  him.' 

'Then  it  is  true  what  they  say,'  said  Sol,  bringing 
down  his  fist  upon  the  table.  *  I  know  your  meaning 
well  enough.  What's  to  be  done?  If  I  could  only  see 
her  this  minute,  she  might  be  kept  out  of  it.* 

'  You  think  your  presence  would  influence  your 
sister — if  you  could  see  her  before  the  wedding  ? ' 

'  I  think  it  would.      But  who's  to  get  at  her  ?  ' 

*  I  am  going,  so  you  had  better  come  on  with  me — 
unless  it  would  be  best  for  your  father  to  come.' 

*  Perhaps  it  might,'  said  the  bewildered  Sol.  '  But 
he  will  not  be  able  to  get  away  ;  and  it's  no  use  for 
Dan  to  go.  If  anybody  goes  I  must!  If  she  has 
made  up  her  mind  nothing  can  be  done  by  writing 
to  her.' 

*  I  leave  at  once  to  see  Lord  Mountclere,'  the  other 
continued.  *  I  feel  that  as  my  brother  is  evidently 
ignorant  of  the  position  of  Mrs.  Petherwin's  family  and 
connections,  it  is  only  fair  in  me,  as  his  nearest  relative, 
to  make  them  clear  to  him  before  it  is  too  late.' 

'  You  mean  that  if  he  knew  her  friends  were  work- 
ing-people he  would  not  think  of  her  as  a  wife  ?  'Tis  a 
reasonable  thought.  But  make  your  mind  easy  :  she 
has  told  him.  I  make  a  great  mistake  if  she  has  for  a 
moment  thought  of  concealing  that  from  him.' 

*  She  may  not  have  deliberately  done  so.     But — 

369 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

and  I  say  this  with  no  ill-feeling — it  is  a  matter  known 
to  few,  and  she  may  have  taken  no  steps  to  undeceive 
him,  I  hope  to  bring  him  to  see  the  matter  clearly. 
Unfortunately  the  thing  has  been  so  secret  and 
hurried  that  there  is  barely  time.  I  knew  nothing 
until  this  morning — never  dreamt  of  such  a  pre- 
posterous occurrence.' 

*  Preposterous !  If  it  should  come  to  pass,  she 
would  play  her  part  as  his  lady  as  well  as  any  other 
woman,  and  better.  I  wish  there  was  no  more  reason 
for  fear  on  my  side  than  there  is  on  yours  !  Things 
have  come  to  a  sore  head  when  she  is  not  considered 
lady  enough  for  such  as  he.  But  perhaps  your 
meaning  is,  that  if  your  brother  were  to  have  a  son,  you 
would  lose  your  heir-presumptive  title  to  the  cor'net  of 
Mountclere  ?  Well,  'twould  be  rather  hard  for  'ee,  now 
I  come  to  think  o't — upon  my  life,  'twould.' 

*  The  sucreestion  is  as  delicate  as  the atmos- 

phere  of  this  vile  room.  But  let  your  ignorance  be 
your  excuse,  my  man.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  for  us 
to  quarrel  when  we  both  have  the  same  object  in  view: 
do  you  think  so  ?  ' 

'  That's  true — that's  true.  When  do  you  start, 
sir  i^ 

'We  must  leave  almost  at  once,'  said  Mountclere, 
looking  at  his  watch.  *  If  we  cannot  catch  the  two 
o'clock  train,  there  is  no  getting  there  to-night — and 
to-morrow  we  could  not  possibly  arrive  before  one.' 

'  I  wish  there  was  time  for  me  to  go  and  tidy  myself 
a  bit,'  said  Sol,  anxiously  looking  down  at  his  working 
clothes.  *  I  suppose  you  would  not  like  me  to  go  with 
you  like  this  ? ' 

'  Confound  the  clothes  !  If  you  cannot  start  in  five 
minutes,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  go  at  all.' 

'  Very  well,  then — wait  while  I  run  across  to  the 
shop,  then  I  am  ready.  How  do  w^e  get  to  the 
station  ? ' 

'  My  carriage  is  at  the  corner  waiting.  WTien  you 
come  out  I  will  meet  you  at  the  gates.' 

370 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Sol  then  hurried  downstairs,  and  a  minute  or  two 
later  Mr.  Mountclere  followed,  looking  like  a  man  bent 
on  policy  at  any  price.  The  carriage  was  brought 
round  by  the  time  that  Sol  reappeared  from  the  yard. 
He  entered  and  sat  down  beside  Mountclere,  not  with- 
out a  sense  that  he  was  spoiling  good  upholstery  ;  the 
coachman  then  allowed  the  lash  of  his  whip  to  alight 
with  the  force  of  a  small  fly  upon  the  horses,  which  set 
them  up  in  an  angry  trot.  Sol  rolled  on  beside  his 
new  acquaintance  with  the  shamefaced  look  of  a  man 
going  to  prison  in  a  van,  for  pedestrians  occasionally 
gazed  at  him,  full  of  what  seemed  to  himself  to  be 
ironical  surprise. 

'  I  am  afraid  I  ouo-ht  to  have  chanofed  mv  clothes 
after  all,'  he  said,  writhing  under  a  perception  of  the 
contrast  between  them.  *  Not  knowing  anything  about 
this,  I  ain't  a  bit  prepared.  If  I  had  got  even  my 
second-best  hat,  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad.' 

'  It  makes  no  difference,'  said  Mountclere  inani- 
mately. 

*  Or  I  might  have  brought  my  portmantle,  with 
some  thinors.' 

'  It  really  is  not  important.' 

On  reaching  the  station  they  found  there  were  yet 
a  few  minutes  to  spare,  which  Sol  made  use  of  in 
writing  a  note  to  his  father,  to  explain  what  had 
occurrei 


THE  DONCASTLES 

RESIDENCE 
AND  OUTSIDE  THE  SAME 

XLII 

Mrs.  Doncastle's  dressing-bell  had  rung,  but 
Menlove,  the  lady's  maid,  having  at  the  same  time 
received  a  letter  by  the  evening  post,  paused  to  read 
it  before  replying  to  the  summons  : — 

Enckworth  Court,  Wednesday, 

Darling  Louisa, — I  can  assure  you  that  I  am  no  more 
likely  than  yourself  to  form  another  attachment,  as  you  will 
perceive  by  what  follows.  Before  we  left  town  1  thought  that 
to  be  able  to  see  you  occasionally  was  sufficient  for  happiness, 
but  down  in  this  lonely  place  the  case  is  different.  In  short, 
my  dear,  I  ask  you  to  consent  to  a  union  with  me  as  soon  as 
you  possibly  can.  Your  prettiness  has  won  my  eyes  and  lips 
completely,  sweet,  and  I  lie  awake  at  night  to  think  of  the 
golden  curls  you  allowed  to  escape  from  their  confinement  on 
those  nice  times  of  private  clothes,  when  we  walked  in  the  park 
and  slipped  the  bonds  of  service,  which  you  were  never  born 
to  any  more  than  I.  .  .  . 

Had  not  my  own  feelings  been  so  strong,  I  should  have 
told  you  at  the  first  dash  of  my  pen  that  what  I  expected  is 
coming  to  pass  at  last — the  old  dog  is  going  to  be  privately 
married  to  Mrs.  P.  Yes,  indeed,  and  the  wedding  is  coming 
off  to-morrow,  secret  as  the  grave.  All  her  friends  will 
doubtless  leave  service  on  account  of  it.  What  he  does  now 
makes  little  difference  to  me,  of  course,  as  I  had  already  given 
warning,  but  I  shall  stick  to  him  like  a  Briton  in  spite  of  it. 
He  has  to-day  made  me  a  present,  and  a  further  five  pounds 

372 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

for  yourself,  expecting  you  to  hold  your  tongue  on  every 
matter  connected  with  Mrs.  P.'s  friends,  and  to  say  nothing 
to  any  of  them  about  this  marriage  until  it  is  over.  His 
lordship  impressed  this  upon  me  very  strong,  and  familiar  as 
a  brother,  and  of  course  we  obey  his  instructions  to  the  letter  ; 
for  I  need  hardly  say  that  unless  he  keeps  his  promise  to  help 
me  in  setting  up  the  shop,  our  nuptials  cannot  be  consumed. 
His  help  depends  upon  our  obedience,  as  you  are  aware.  .  ,  .' 

This,  and  much  more,  was  from  her  very  last 
lover.  Lord  Mountclere's  valet,  who  had  been  taken  in 
hand  directly  she  had  convinced  herself  of  Joey's 
hopeless  youthfulness.  The  missive  sent  Mrs.  Men- 
love's  spirits  soaring  like  spring  larks  ;  she  flew  up- 
stairs in  answer  to  the  bell  with  a  joyful,  triumphant 
look,  which  the  illuminated  figure  of  Mrs.  Doncastle 
in  her  dressing-room  could  not  quite  repress.  One 
could  almost  foro^ive  Menlove  her  arts  when  so 
modest  a  result  brouofht  such  vast  content. 

Mrs.  Doncastle  seemed  inclined  to  make  no  remark 
during  the  dressing,  and  at  last  Menlove  could  repress 
herself  no  longer. 

'  I  should  like  to  name  something  to  you,  m'm.' 

«Yes.' 

*  I  shall  be  wishing  to  leave  soon,  if  it  is  convenient.* 
*Ver}^  well,   Menlove,'  answered    Mrs.   Doncastle, 

as    she    serenely  surveyed   her   right  eyebrow  in  the 
glass.      *  Am  I  to  take  this  as  a  formal  notice  ? ' 

'  If  you  please  ;  but  I  could  stay  a  week  or  two 
beyond  the  month  if  suitable.  I  am  going  to  be 
married — that's  what  it  is,  m'm.' 

*  O  !  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  though  I  am  sorry  to 
lose  you.' 

'  It  is  Lord  Mountclere's  valet — Mr.  Tipman — m*m. 

*  Indeed.' 

Menlove  went  on  building  up  Mrs.  Doncastle's 
hair  awhile  in  silence. 

*  I  suppose  you  heard  the  other  news  that  arrived 
in  town  to-day,  m'm  ?  '  she  said  again.  *  Lord  Mount- 
clere  is  going  to  be  married  to-morrow.' 

373 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  To-morrow  ?     Are  you  quite  sure  ?  * 

'  O  yes,  m'm.  Mr.  Tipman  has  just  told  me  so  in 
his  letter.  He  is  going  to  be  married  to  Mrs.  Pether- 
win.      It  is  to  be  quite  a  private  wedding.' 

Mrs.  Doncastle  made  no  remark,  and  she  remained 
in  the  same  still  position  as  before  ;  but  a  countenance 
expressing  transcendent  surprise  was  reflected  to 
Menlove  by  the  glass. 

At  this  sight  Menlove's  tongue  so  burned  to  go 
further,  and  unfold  the  lady's  relations  with  the  butler 
downstairs,  that  she  would  have  lost  a  month's  wag-es 
to  be  at  liberty  to  do  it.  The  disclosure  was  almost 
too  magnificent  to  be  repressed.  To  deny  herself 
so  exquisite  an  indulgence  required  an  effort  which 
nothing  on  earth  could  have  sustained  save  the  one 
thing  that  did  sustain  it — the  knowledge  that  upon  her 
silence  hung  the  most  enormous  desideratum  in  the 
world,  her  own  marriage.  She  said  no  more,  and  Mrs. 
Doncastle  went  away. 

It  was  an  ordinar}"  family  dinner  that  day,  but 
their  nephew  Neigh  happened  to  be  present.  Just  as 
they  were  sitting  down  Mrs.  Doncastle  said  to  her 
husband  :  '  Why  have  you  not  told  me  of  the  wedding 
to-morrow  ? — or  don't  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  ' 

'Wedding?'  said  Mr.  Doncastle. 

*  Lord  Mountclere  is  to  be  married  to  Mrs.  Pether- 
win  quite  privately.' 

'  Good  God  ! '  said  some  person. 

Mr.  Doncastle  did  not  speak  the  words  ;  they  were 
not  spoken  by  Neigh  :  they  seemed  to  float  over  the 
room  and  round  the  walls,  as  if  origfinatinor  in  some 
spiritualistic  source.  Yet  Mrs.  Doncastle,  remembering 
the  symptoms  of  attachment  between  Ethelberta  and 
her  nephew  which  had  appeared  during  the  summer, 
looked  towards  Neigh  instantly,  as  if  she  thought  the 
words  must  have  come  from  him  after  all  ;  but  Neioh  s 
face  was  perfectly  calm ;  he,  together  w^ith  her 
husband,  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  fixed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  sideboard  ;    and  turning  to  the  same  spot 

374 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

she  beheld  Chickerel  standing  pale  as  death,  his  lips 
being  parted  as  if  he  did  not  know  where  he  was. 

'  Did  you  speak  ? '  said  Mrs.  Doncastle,  looking 
with  astonishment  at  the  butler. 

'  Chickerel,  what's  the  matter — are  you  ill  ? '  said 
Mr.  Doncasde  simultaneously.  'Was  it  you  who  said 
that  ? ' 

'  I  did,  sir,'  said  Chickerel  in  a  husky  voice,  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.      '  I  could  not  help  it.' 

'Why?' 

*  She  is  my  daughter,  and  it  shall  be  known  at  once !  * 

'  Who  is  your  daughter  ? ' 

He  paused  a  few  moments  nervously.  *  Mrs. 
Petherwin,'  he  said. 

Upon  this  announcement  Neigh  looked  at  poor 
Chickerel  as  if  he  saw  through  him  into  the  wall. 
Mrs.  Doncasde  uttered  a  faint  exclamation  and  leant 
back  in  her  chair  :  the  bare  possibility  of  the  truth  of 
Chickerel's  claims  to  such  paternity  shook  her  to  pieces 
when  she  viewed  her  intimacies  with  Ethelberta  during 
the  past  season — the  court  she  had  paid  her,  the 
arrangements  she  had  entered  into  to  please  her ; 
above  all,  the  dinner-party  which  she  had  contrived 
and  carried  out  solely  to  gratify  Lord  Mountclere  and 
bring  him  into  personal  communication  with  the  general 
favourite ;  thus  making  herself  probably  the  chief 
though  unconscious  instrument  in  promoting  a  match 
by  which  her  buder  was  to  become  father-in-law  to  a 
peer  she  delighted  to  honour.  The  crowd  of  percep^ 
tions  almost  took  away  her  life  ;  she  closed  her  eyes  in 
a  white  shiver. 

'  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  lady  who  sat  here 
at  dinner  at  the  same  time  that  Lord  Mountclere  was 
present,  is  your  daughter  ? '  asked  Doncastle. 

'Yes,  sir,'  said  Chickerel  respectfully. 

*  How  did  she  come  to  be  your  daughter?* 

*  I —     Well,  she  is  my  daughter,  sir.' 

*  Did  you  educate  her  ? ' 

*  Not  altogether,  sir.     She  was  a  very  clever  child. 

375 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Lady  Petherwin  took  a  deal  of  trouble  about  her 
education.  They  were  both  left  widows  about  the 
same  time :  the  son  died,  then  the  father.  My 
daughter  was  only  eighteen  then.  But  though  she's 
older  now,  her  marriage  with  Lord  Mountclere  means 
misery.     He  ought  to  marry  another  woman.' 

'  It  is  very  extraordinary,'  Mr.  Doncastle  murmured. 
'  If  you  are  ill  you  had  better  go  and  rest  yourself, 
Chickerel.     Send  in  Thomas.' 

Chickerel,  who  seemed  to  be  much  disturbed,  then 
ver>''  gladly  left  the  room,  and  dinner  proceeded.  But 
such  was  the  peculiarity  of  the  case,  that,  though  there 
was  In  It  neither  murder,  robbery,  illness,  accident,  fire, 
or  any  other  of  the  tragic  and  legitimate  shakers  of 
human  nerves,  two  of  the  three  who  were  gathered 
there  sat  through  the  meal  without  the  least  conscious- 
ness of  what  viands  had  composed  It.  Impresslveness 
depends  as  much  upon  propinquity  as  upon  magnitude  ; 
and  to  have  honoured  unawares  the  daughter  of  the 
vilest  Antipodean  miscreant  and  murderer  would  have 
been  less  discomfiting  to  Mrs.  Doncastle  than  it 
was  to  make  the  same  blunder  with  the  daughter  of 
a  respectable  servant  who  happened  to  live  In  her 
own  house.  To  Neigh  the  announcement  was  as  the 
catastrophe  of  a  story  already  begun,  rather  than  as  an 
isolated  wonder.  Ethelberta's  words  had  prepared 
him  for  something,  though  the  nature  of  that  thing 
was  unknown. 

'  Chickerel  ought  not  to  have  kept  us  in  ignorance 
of  this — of  course  he  ought  not ! '  said  Mrs.  Doncastle, 
as  soon  as  they  were  left  alone. 

*  I  don't  see  why  not,'  replied  Mr.  Doncastle,  who 
took  the  matter  very  coolly,  as  was  his  custom. 

*  Then  she  herself  should  have  let  it  be  known.' 

'  Nor  does  that  follow.  You  didn't  tell  Mrs. 
Petherwin  that  your  grandfather  narrowly  escaped 
hanging  for  shooting  his  rival  In  a  duel.' 

'  Of  course  not.  There  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  give  extraneous  Information.' 

376 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'  Nor  was  there  any  reason  why  she  should.  As 
for  Chickerel,  he  doubtless  felt  how  unbecoming  it 
would  be  to  make  personal  remarks  upon  one  of  your 
guests — Ha-ha-ha !     Well,  well — Ha-ha-ha-ha !  * 

'  I  know  this,'  said  Mrs.  Doncastle,  in  great  anger, 
*  that  if  my  father  had  been  in  the  room,  I  should  not 
have  let  the  fact  pass  unnoticed,  and  treated  him  like  a 
stranger ! ' 

*  Would  you  have  had  her  introduce  Chickerel  to 
us  all  round  ?  My  dear  Margaret,  it  was  a  complicated 
position  for  a  woman.' 

*  Then  she  ought  not  to  have  come ! ' 

*  There  may  be  something  in  that,  though  ihe  was 
dining  out  at  other  houses  as  good  as  ours.  Well,  I 
should  have  done  just  as  she  did,  for  the  joke  of  the 
thing.  Ha-ha-ha! — it  is  very  good — very.  It  was  a 
case  in  which  the  appetite  for  a  jest  would  overpower 
the  sting  of  conscience  in  any  well-constituted  being — 
that,  my  dear,  I  must  maintain.' 

*  I  say  she  should  not  have  come ! '  answered  Mrs. 
Doncastle  firmly.    '  Of  course  I  shall  dismiss  Chickerel.' 

*  Of  course  you  will  do  no  such  thing.  I  have 
never  had  a  butler  in  the  house  before  who  suited  me 
so  well.  It  is  a  great  credit  to  the  man  to  have  such  a 
daughter,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  we  do  not  derive 
some  lustre  of  a  humble  kind  from  his  presence  in 
the  house.  But,  seriously,  I  wonder  at  your  short- 
sightedness, when  you  know  the  troubles  we  have  had 
through  getting  new  men  from  nobody  knows  where.' 

Neigh,  perceiving  that  the  breeze  in  the  atmosphere 
might  ultimately  intensify  to  a  palpable  white  squall, 
seemed  to  think  it  would  be  well  to  take  leave  of  his 
uncle  and  aunt  as  soon  as  he  conveniently  could ; 
nevertheless,  he  was  much  less  discomposed  by  the 
situation  than  by  the  active  cause  which  had  led  to  it. 
When  Mrs.  Doncastle  arose,  her  husband  said  he  was 
going  to  speak  to  Chickerel  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
Neigh  followed  his  aunt  upstairs. 

Presently  Doncastle  joined  them.     *  I   have  been 

377 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

talking  to  Chickerel,'  he  said.  'It  is  a  very  curious 
affair — this  marriage  of  his  daughter  and  Lord  Mount- 
clere.  The  whole  situation  is  the  most  astounding 
I  have  ever  met  with.  The  man  is  quite  ill  about 
the  news.  He  has  shown  me  a  letter  which  has  just 
reached  him  from  his  son  on  the  same  subject.  Lord 
Mountclere's  brother  and  this  young  man  have  actually 
gone  off  together  to  try  to  prevent  the  wedding,  and 
Chickerel  has  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  himself,  if  he 
can  get  soon  enough  to  the  station  to  catch  the  night 
mail.     Of  course  he  may  go  if  he  wishes.' 

'  What  a  funny  thing ! '  said  the  lady,  with  a 
wretchedly  factitious  smile.  *  The  times  have  taken 
a  strange  turn  when  the  angry  parent  of  the  comedy, 
who  goes  post-haste  to  prevent  the  undutiful  daughter's 
rash  marriage,  is  a  gentleman  from  below  stairs,  and 
the  unworthy  lover  a  peer  of  the  realm  ! ' 

Neigh  spoke  for  almost  the  first  time.  '  I  don't 
blame  Chickerel  in  objecting  to  Lord  Mountclere.  I 
should  object  to  him  myself  if  I  had  a  daughter.  I 
never  liked  him.' 

'  Why  1 '  said  Mrs.  Doncastle,  lifting  her  eyelids  as 
if  the  act  were  a  heavy  task. 

*  For  reasons  which  don't  generally  appear.' 
'Yes,'  said  Mr.   Doncastle,  in  a  low  tone.     'Still 

we  must  not  believe  all  we  hear.' 

*  Is  Chickerel  going  .-^ '  said  Neigh. 

'  He  leaves  in  five  or  ten  minutes,'  said  Doncastle. 
After  a  few  further  words  Neigh  mentioned  that 
he  was  unable  to  stay  longer  that  evening,  and  left 
them.  When  he  had  reached  the  outside  of  the  door 
he  walked  a  little  way  up  the  pavement  and  back 
again,  as  if  reluctant  to  lose  sight  of  the  street,  finally 
standing  under  a  lamp-post  whence  he  could  command 
a  view  of  Mr.  Doncastle's  front.  Presently  a  man 
came  out  in  a  great-coat  and  with  a  small  bag  in  his 
hand ;  Neigh,  at  once  recognizing  the  person  as 
Chickerel,  went  up  to  him. 

.  *  Mr.  Doncastle  tells  me  you  are  going  on  a  sudden 

378 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

journey.     At  what  time  does  your  train  leave  ? '  Neigh 
asked. 

*  I  go  by  the  ten  o'clock,  sir :  I  hope  it  is  a  third- 
class,'  said  Chickerel ;  'though  I  am  afraid  it  may 
not  be.' 

*  It  is  as  much  as  you  will  do  to  get  to  the  station,' 
said  Neigh,  turning  the  face  of  his  watch  to  the  light. 
'  Here,  come  into  my  cab — I  am  driving  that  way.' 

'Thank  you,  sir,'  said  Chickerel. 

Neigh  called  a  cab  at  the  first  opportunity,  and 
they  entered  and  drove  along  together.  Neither 
spoke  during  the  journey.  When  they  were  driving 
up  to  the  station  entrance  Neigh  looked  again  to  see 
the  hour. 

'You  have  not  a  minute  to  lose,'  he  said,  in 
repressed  anxiety.  '  And  your  journey  will  be 
expensive :  instead  of  walking  from  Anglebury  to 
Knollsea,  you  had  better  drive — above  all,  don't  lose 
time.  Never  mind  what  class  the  train  is.  Take  this 
from  me,  since  the  emergency  is  great.'  He  handed 
something  to  Chickerel  folded  up  small. 

The  butler  took  it  without  inquiry,  and  stepped  out 
hastily. 

'  I  sincerely  hope  she —  Well,  good-night,  Chickerel, 
continued  Neigh,  ending  his  words  abruptly.  The 
cab  containing  him  drove  again  towards  the  station- 
gates,  leaving  Chickerel  standing  on  the  kerb. 

He  passed  through  the  booking-office,  and  looked 
at  the  paper  Neigh  had  put  into  his  hand.  It  was  a 
five-pound  note. 

Chickerel  mused  on  the  circumstance  as  he  took 
his  ticket  and  got  into  the  train. 


THE  RAILWAY 

THE  SEA 
THE  SHORE  BEYOND 

XLIII 

By  this  time  Sol  and  the  Honourable  Edgar  Mount- 
clere  had  gone  far  on  their  journey  into  Wessex. 
Enckworth  Court,  Mountclere's  destination,  though 
several  miles  from  Knollsea,  was  most  easily  accessible 
by  the  same  route  as  that  to  the  village,  the  latter 
being  the  place  for  which  Sol  was  bound. 

From  the  few  words  that  passed  between  them  on 
the  way,  Mountclere  became  more  stubborn  than  ever 
in  a  belief  that  this  was  a  carefully  laid  trap  of  the  fair 
Ethelberta's  to  ensnare  his  brother  without  revealing 
to  him  her  family  ties,  w^hich  it  therefore  behoved  him 
to  make  clear,  with  the  utmost  force  of  representation, 
before  the  fatal  union  had  been  contracted.  Being 
himself  the  viscount's  only  remaining  brother  and  near 
relative,  the  disinterestedness  of  his  motives  may  be 
left  to  imagination  ;  that  there  was  much  real  excuse 
for  his  conduct  must,  however,  be  borne  in  mind. 
Whether  his  attempt  w^ould  prevent  the  union  was 
another  question  :  he  believed  that,  conjoined  with  his 
personal  influence  over  the  viscount,  and  the  importa- 
tion of  Sol  as  a  fire-brand  to  throw  between  the 
betrothed  pair,  it  might  do  so. 

About  half-an-hour  before  sunset  the  two  indi- 
viduals, linked  by  their  differences,  reached  the  point 

380 


A  COMEDY  lx\  CHAPTERS 

of  railway  at  which  the  branch  to  Sandbourne  left  the 
main  line.  They  had  taken  tickets  for  Sandbourne, 
intending  to  go  thence  to  Knollsea  by  the  steamer 
that  plied  between  the  two  places  during  the  summer 
months — making  this  a  short  and  direct  route.  But 
it  occurred  to  Mountclere  on  the  way  that,  summer 
being  over,  the  steamer  might  possibly  have  left  off 
running,  the  wind  might  be  too  high  for  a  small  boat, 
and  no  large  one  might  be  at  hand  for  hire  :  therefore 
it  would  be  safer  to  go  by  train  to  Anglebury,  and  the 
remaining  sixteen  miles  by  driving  over  the  hills,  even 
at  a  great  loss  of  time. 

Accident,  however,  determined  otherwise.  They 
were  in  the  station  at  the  junction,  inquiring  of  an 
official  if  the  Speedwell  had  ceased  to  sail,  when  a 
countryman  who  had  just  come  up  from  Sandbourne 
stated  that,  though  the  Speedwell  had  left  off  for  the 
year,  there  was  that  day  another  steamer  at  Sandbourne. 
This,  the  Spruce^  would  of  necessity  return  to  Knollsea 
that  evening,  partly  because  several  people  from  that 
place  had  been  on  board,  and  also  because  the 
Knollsea  folk  were  waiting  for  groceries  and  draperies 
from  London  :  there  was  not  an  ounce  of  tea  or  a 
hundredweio^ht  of  coal  in  the  villaore,  owinor  to  the 
recent  winds,  which  had  detained  the  provision  parcels 
at  Sandbourne,  and  kept  the  colliers  up-channel  until 
the  change  of  weather  this  day.  To  introduce 
necessaries  by  a  roundabout  land  journey  was  not  easy 
when  they  had  been  ordered  by  the  other  and  habitual 
route.     The  boat  returned  at  six  o'clock. 

So  on  they  went  to  Sandbourne,  driving  off  to  the 
pier  directly  they  reached  that  place,  for  it  was  getting 
towards  night.  The  steamer  was  there,  as  the  man 
had  told  them,  much  to  the  relief  of  Sol,  who,  being 
extremely  anxious  to  enter  Knollsea  before  a  late 
hour,  had  known  that  this  was  the  only  way  in  which 
it  could  be  done. 

Some  unforeseen  incident  delayed  the  boat,  and  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  pier  to  wait.     The  prospect 

381 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELIERTA 


fAnm}  tman^L  Tie  viad  was  icanh-eaa ;  the 
along  shore  vas  a  duJky -gree;.  cbugh 
thdif  calia.  this  pan  of  the  oootst  fbrviii^  a 
viod  ia  ks  present  quvter.  The  dotii  had 
t^elocrtgae^  and  some  of  thea  shone  withicoppenr  giai^ 
prodttoed  bj  rafs  finom  the  vest  vhki  <hd  not  enter 
the  iofenor  afn5|Arfe  at  aL  It  w;iS'edected  on  die 
dbtant  vav^cs  in  patrhey  nith  an  cfiecris  if  die  vaten 
nere  at  tbotseparDcufar  spots  sainec  xxxL    Tins 

depantd,  and  nhat  dayi^iht  mas  kit  todie  eanh  caoie 
bom  snas^  and  nwisittl  quarters  t  the  heai«B. 
The  maath  noold  be  fangfat.  as  if  that^ere  die  phoe 
of  the  sob;  then  al  oreihend  noidd  doe.  and  a  white- 
ness in  the  east  voidd  giT^  the  ffipeamee  of 
vhSe  a  hank  as  ci^kk  as  a  mad  barricded  the 
vfakh  looked  as  if  it  had  no  naqtiMntane  toH 
and  nocU  bindi  red  no  sore. 

"Aar  other  paae^ggs?'  shouted  th  xn^srer  of  the 

III  ibfni      *^enHBt  beod':  it  niaf  h^dlrcy  night.' 

Sol  and  M^iMM  leit.  v^ent  on  boanr  and  the  pier 

i w  ruled  M  tDf' 


E«T?'  saxs 

i  the  nind  keeps  where  it  is  fcr  another 

or  rs  w^ 

"1  £&2uy  itisdbifd^g  lj  ^..ic  z^^^z^^s^mi  oqu 
Tbe  captain  kxilDed  as  if  he  had  thof;ht  the  same 

J  1  hope  I  sfaal  be  able  to  get  hometo-night.'  said 
a  Kmkallsea  ■!— m  '  Mr  £tde  dnUienbe  idt  akme. 
YoLxr  sBK^ess  is  in  a  bad  wajr.  too— iso  the.  skipper?' 

'And   foawc   got    the  doctor  £rui-  r^ndboiMne 
afaoaid.  so  tend  her?' 
-Yes." 
" Then  yait  be  sire  to  pix  into  Kxi^lsca.  if  foo 

•\cs.      _•:-     V  claimed,  ma'aflu     Veil  do  mbal 


A  CCMEDY  IN  CH    ?    Z?5 

The  skipper;  retnark  w'_ 
tioo  daat  the  v^^i  had  ax 
single  point  of 
KnoBsea  Bay. 
penT|iribte 
dbcmcd  out 
streccfaed  a  ve: 
ppralM  with  thsr  coarse. 
siUe  and  custoBary  to  ' 

hoarj  fx^c  (o  the  <listP- 
fetJMMt^  of  watr  witliiii 
|BCiipirr.      Botit  was  an 
laiiJwaid  no  les  dxan  sei 
the  top  in  regtatioii.  Eke  ^ 

hair,  no  defirrei  ct^jc  be  ^  i  w^jHuiuig  u> 

onwary  pcd^stnos  oo  th 

As  tne  wTTf  spna^  *^*'3I5  cp»^:'f 

be  discer-^^'^  3  the  waic  .     _  .  -^siv  ^ 

faffing  ^  i>e  black  :  of  sliapgf  v^ed  n- l: 

fbnned  a  sort  o  skirting  ^ofmevaE.     T^ 

were  the  iisofuL-  ^asi^  wbidb  sha    : : 

die  £M:e  oc  "  3^  like  ^ngs  of  f: 

in  the  shape  c  ."i^ads  s  *— as  rf  anr. 

»4igf ^iMi  cy  atMgigndT  str*  ^  fflie  dc'*'    ' 

and  crer  sudm;  back  to  -^^     T 

remiDded  an  oberrer  of  a  drowm 
of  the  Delxige.   At  sooie  poims 

hollowed  into  ^apii^  cavema^  an  s£> 

dnnder  into  dcse  with  a  leap  tfr.  ^ 

die  rebound  aaward  again.     T 

kept  a  Bttle  finhcr  to  sea.  hot  be^     ^ 

w^ent  00  as  QSuL 

The  precxpce  was  stfll  in  ricw.  and  bcfae  it  seierJ 
WrCT>  rAMM»c  if  mrlr  ^|ygaf«L  df  tarlird  firom  Ae 
behind.  Twoof  these  were  particpiarfy  noikeaMe 
the  grey  air — me  TertkaL  sfeouit  and  sqaaore;  the  cc 
slender'  and  tperii^.  They  were  mdEriAaliKEi 
hnsfaand  and  xiic  by  the  coast  ncnu  The  waies  h 
op  dieir  sides  like  a  pack  of  hoinids ;  thisi,  howe'' 

3S3 


THE  HA^'H  OF   FTMFI  RFRTA 


4  i;  :i  xi^^ir.  it  lu 

-t' 


be 


«-  to  the 


n  lac  IKK 


•.Cf 


.,;;  erf  ih^  Fki-.  >    fn  Miff^^  ^ii^iH^  lIlQ 

41  ihr  tCAic  of  4liur»  on 


A  the 

ftl  t  4)1 


•4*4    r^ACCS  QIC 

.  .'uimmod  a*  if 
^<mrd  afatuH  at 
llxat    human    Ijrm,  ^ild   r 

t  in  a  sfiTK  « .i,  .4  !c  oi^  Mich  n 
H  '^  U  the  boiaet  looked  diocrtuL 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

lat  wms  the  dwelling  to  which  Ethrlhrrta  had  ffoiic 
5  gay  external  colours  might  as  m  ..c  been  black 

If  an>thing  that  could  be  iccn  of  ihem  now.  but  an 
nblindcd  window  revealed  inside  it  a  room  bright 
k1  wann.       It    wit%    illumindied    by   f    *    *  ly. 

/ithir  'a    appeared    against    uic    Luiia;as, 

(Wt   %u   -  ^  ^ne   was   watching    ihr-     ^^    a 

,noct^  «  i-    .i    ^^^  ^*     ^'  ^^  '  V^-omr  visib.  he 

.  ..,  :.  I  ihink  iJ  to  her 

«cf.  who  was  b%  *  1  hope  they  %^ 

I  land  the  thtnct  I  have »  A     The>-  arc 

1^  ^  ^  i  .     .       .        •  ^--  -•**  -"-'*nhing 

.1  ...  unnn 

•••  •  • 
,    f.v  w  to  •  it 

kiMd  the  %asli,  and  bf  to  the  iiw'Hi  a  cmp  lf.i^: 

'^ent  of  fiTSfT 

•How   mddcniy    ihe    tra    mini    iwvc    rivcxi,     ^.r-^ 

'icotr*- 

J  hr    vrfka  ^*». 

....    '.  _    .    ..  .e  xrntr  !  ' 


•  Ihr; 


•  It  :%  of  no  c 
ThegiH  U 

,^ht  t^  ■    — — 

..  .1  right  fee  u.  to  tj-..  o.-     !-^:n^  vou  are  to  t- 
™«mcd    u>:inofTOw>-    vtid    I-  .    who   had   ima 

aflectioa  lor  nature  in  th»»  mood 

H^  »»trf  UuKhrt!      •  Ut  ui  put  on  our  cK^ks 
nobc>  ■»o«  t»     I  *m  •  to  kavc  th.»  gr» 

they  wraouca  uicu^lvo  »p.  and  docendcd  th 

ha. 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

On  drawing  near  the  battling  line  of  breakers 
which  marked  the  meeting  of  sea  and  land  they  could 
perceive  within  the  nearly  invisible  horizon  an  equil- 
ateral triangle  of  lights.  It  was  formed  of  three  stars, 
a  red  on  the  one  side,  a  green  on  the  other,  and  a 
white  on  the  summit.  This,  composed  of  mast-head 
and  side  lamps,  was  all  that  was  visible  of  the  Spruce^ 
which  now  faced  end-on  about  half-a-mile  distant,  and 
was  still  nearing  the  pier.  The  girls  went  further,  and 
stood  on  the  foreshore,  listening  to  the  din.  Seaward 
appeared  nothing  distinct  save  a  black  horizontal  band 
embodying  itself  out  of  the  grey  water,  strengthening  its 
blackness,  and  enlarging  till  it  looked  like  a  nearing 
wall.  It  was  the  concave  face  of  a  coming  wave. 
On  its  summit  a  white  edging  arose  with  the  aspect  of 
a  lace  frill ;  it  broadened,  and  fell  over  the  front  with 
a  terrible  concussion.  Then  all  before  them  was  a 
sheet  of  whiteness,  which  spread  with  amazing  rapidity, 
till  they  found  themselves  standing  in  the  midst  of  it, 
as  in  a  field  of  snow.  Both  felt  an  insidious  chill 
encircling  their  ankles,  and  they  rapidly  ran  up  the 
beach. 

'  You  girls,  come  away  there,  or  you'll  be  washed 
off :  what  need  have  ye  for  going  so  near  '^.  ' 

Ethelberta  recognized  the  stentorian  voice  as  that 
of  Captain  Flower,  who,  with  a  party  of  boatmen,  was 
discovered  to  be  standing  near,  under  the  shelter  of  a 
wall.  He  did  not  know  them  in  the  gloom,  and  they 
took  care  that  he  should  not.  They  retreated  further 
up  the  beach,  when  the  hissing  fleece  of  froth  slid 
again  down  the  shingle,  dragging  the  pebbles  under  it 
with  a  rattle  as  of  a  beast  gnawing  bones. 

The  spot  whereon  the  men  stood  was  called 
'  Down-under-wall ' ;  it  was  a  nook  commanding  a  full 
view  of  the  bay,  and  hither  the  nautical  portion  of  the 
village  unconsciously  gravitated  on  windy  afternoons 
and  nights,  to  discuss  past  disasters  in  the  reticent 
spirit  induced  by  a  sense  that  they  might  at  any 
moment  be  repeated.     The  stranger  who  should  walk 

386 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

the  shore  on  roarincr  and  sobblnor  November  eves 
when  there  was  not  light  sufficient  to  guide  his  foot- 
steps, and  muse  on  the  absoluteness  of  the  solitude, 
would  be  surprised  by  a  smart  '  Good-night '  being 
returned  from  this  corner  in  company  with  the  echo 
of  his  tread.  In  summer  the  six  or  eight  perennial 
fiooires  stood  on  the  breezv  side  of  the  wall — in  winter 
and  in  rain  to  leeward  ;  but  no  weather  was  known  to 
dislodge  them. 

'  I  had  no  sooner  come  ashore  than  the  wind  beo^an 
to  ny  round,'  said  the  previous  speaker;  'and  it  must 
have  been  about  the  time  they  were  off  Old- Harry 
Point.  "  She'll  put  back  for  certain,"  I  said  ;  and  I 
had  no  more  thought  o'  seeing  her  than  John's  set-net 
that  was  carried  round  the  point  o'  Monday.' 

'  Poor  feller  :  his  wife  beingf  in  such  a  state  makes 
him  anxious  to  land  if  'a  can  :  that's  what  'tis,  plain 
enough.' 

'  Why  that  ? '  said  Flower. 

'The  doctor's  aboard,  'a  believe:  ''I'll  have  the 
most  understanding  man  in  Sandbourne,  cost  me  little 
or  much,"  he  said.' 

*  'Tis  all  over  and  she's  better,'  said  the  other.  *  I 
called  half  an  hour  afore  dark.' 

Flower,  being  an  experienced  man,  knew  how  the 
judgment  of  a  ship's  master  was  liable  to  be  warped 
by  family  anxieties,  many  instances  of  the  same  having 
occurred  in  the  history^  of  navigation.  He  felt  uneasy, 
for  he  knew  the  deceit  and  guile  of  this  bay  far  better 
than  did  the  master  of  the  Spruce,  who,  till  within  a 
few  recent  months,  had  been  a  stranger  to  the  place. 
Indeed,  it  was  the  bay  which  had  made  Flower  what 
he  was,  instead  of  a  man  in  thriving  retirement.  The 
two  great  ventures  of  his  life  had  been  blown  ashore 
and  broken  up  within  that  very  semicircle.  The 
sturdy  sailor  now  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
triangle  of  lights  which  showed  that  the  steamer  had 
not  relinquished  her  intention  of  bringing  up  inside  the 
pier  if  possible ;    his  right  hand   was  in   his  pockety 

387 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

where  it  played  with  a  large  key  which  lay  there.  It 
was  the  key  of  the  lifeboat  shed,  and  Flower  was 
coxswain.  His  musing  was  on  the  possibility  of  a  use 
for  it  this  night. 

It  appeared  that  the  captain  of  the  Spruce  was 
aiming  to  pass  in  under  the  lee  of  the  pier ;  but  a 
strong  current  of  four  or  five  knots  was  running 
between  the  piles,  drifting  the  steamer  away  at  every 
attempt  as  soon  as  she  slowed.  To  come  in  on  the 
other  side  was  dangerous,  the  hull  of  the  vessel  being 
likely  to  crash  against  and  overthrow  the  fragile 
erection,  with  damage  to  herself  also.  Flower,  who 
had  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes,  now  came  back. 

*  It  is  just  possible  I  can  make  'em  hear  with  the 
trumpet,  now  they  be  to  leeward,'  he  said,  and  pro- 
ceeded with  two  or  three  others  to  grope  his  way  out 
upon  t-he  pier,  which  consisted  simply  of  a  row  of  rotten 
piles  covared  with  rotten  planking,  no  balustrade  of 
any  kind  existing  to  keep  the  unwary  from  tumbling 
off  At  the  water  level  the  piles  were  eaten  away  by 
the  action  of  the  sea  to  about  the  size  of  a  man's  wrist, 
and  at  every  fresh  influx  the  whole  structure  trembled 
like  a  spider's  web.  In  this  lay  the  danger  of  making 
fast,  for  a  strong  pull  from  a  headfast  rope  might  drag 
the  erection  completely  over.  Flower  arrived  at  the 
end,  where  a  lantern  huno-. 

'  spruce  ahoy ! '  he  blared  through  the  speaking- 
trumpet  two  or  three  times. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  reply  of  some  sort  from  the 
steamer. 

*  Tuesday's  gale  hev  loosened  the  pier,  Cap'n 
Ounce  ;  the  bollards  be  too  weak  to  make  fast  to  : 
must  land  in  boats  if  ye  will  land,  but  dangerous ;  yer 
wife  is  out  of  danger,  and  'tis  a  boy-y-y-y ! ' 

Ethelberta  and  Picotee  were  at  this  time  standing 
on  the  beach  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  off  Whether 
or  not  the  master  of  the  steamer  received  the 
information  volunteered  by  Flower,  the  two  girls  saw 
the  triangle  of  lamps  get  narrow  at  its  base,  reduce 

388 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

themselves  to  two  In  a  vertical  line,  then  to  one,  then 
to  darkness.  The  Spruce  had  turned  her  head  from 
Knollsea. 

'  They  have  gone  back,  and  I  shall  not  have  my 
wedding  things  after  all!'  said  Ethelberta.  'Well,  I 
must  do  without  them.' 

'You  see,  'twas  best  to  play  sure,'  said  Flower 
to  his  comrades.  In  a  tone  of  complacency.  '  They 
might  have  been  able  to  do  it,  but  'twas  risky.  The 
shop-folk  be  out  of  stock,  I  hear,  and  the  visiting  lady 
up  the  hill  is  terribly  In  want  of  clothes,  so  'tis  said. 
But  what's  that  '^    Ounce  ought  to  have  put  back  afore.' 

Then  the  lantern  which  hung  at  the  end  of  the 
jetty  was  taken  down,  and  the  darkness  enfolded  all 
around  from  view.  The  bay  became  nothing  but  a 
voice,  the  foam  an  occasional  touch  upon  the  face,  the 
Spruce  an  imagination,  the  pier  a  memory.  Every- 
thing lessened  upon  the  senses  but  one  ;  that  was  the 
wind.  It  mauled  their  persons  like  a  hand,  and  caused 
every  scrap  of  their  raiment  to  tug  westward.  To  stand 
with  the  face  to  sea  brought  seml-suffocatlon,  from  the 
intense  pressure  of  alr. 

The  boatmen  retired  to  their  position  under  the 
wall,  to  lounge  again  in  silence.  Conversation  was 
not  considered  necessarv  :  their  sense  of  each  other's 
presence  formed  a  kind  of  conversation.  Meanwhile 
Picotee  and  Ethelberta  wxnt  up  the  hill. 

*  If  your  wedding  were  going  to  be  a  public  one, 
what  a  misfortune  this  delay  of  the  packages  would  be,* 
said  Picotee. 

'Yes,'  replied  the  elder. 

'  I  think  the  bracelet  the  prettiest  of  all  the  presents 
he  brought  to-day — do  you } ' 
'  It  is  the  most  valuable.' 

*  Lord  Mountclere  is  very  kind,  is  he  not  ?  I  like 
him  a  great  deal  better  than  I  did — do  you,  Berta  ?  ' 

'Yes,  very  much  better,'  said  Ethelberta,  warming 
a  little.  '  If  he  were  not  so  suspicious  at  odd  moments 
I  should  like  him  exceedingly.     But  I  must  cure  him 

389 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

of  that  by  a  regular  course  of  treatment,  and  then  he'll 
be  very  nice.' 

*  For  an  old  man.  He  likes  you  better  than  any 
young  man  would  take  the  trouble  to  do.  I  wish  some- 
body else  were  old  too.' 

*  He  will  be  some  day.' 
'  Yes,  but ' 

'  Never  mind  :  time  will  straighten  many  crooked 
things.' 

*  Do  you  think  Lord  Mountclere  has  reached  home 
by  this  time  ? ' 

'  I  should  think  so  :  though  I  believe  he  had  to  call 
at  the  parsonage  before  leaving  Knollsea.' 

*  Had  he?     What  for?' 

*  Why,  of  course  somebody  must * 

*  O  yes.  Do  you  think  anybody  in  Knollsea  knows 
it  is  going  to  be  except  us  and  the  parson  ? ' 

*  I  suppose  the  clerk  knows.' 

*  I  wonder  if  a  lord  has  ever  been  married  so 
privately  before.* 

*  Frequently  :  when  he  marries  far  beneath  him,  as 
in  this  case.  But  even  if  I  could  have  had  it,  I  should 
not  have  liked  a  showy  wedding.  I  have  had  no 
experience  as  a  bride  except  in  the  private  form  of  the 
ceremony.' 

'  Berta,  I  am  sometimes  uneasy  about  you  even 
now,  and  I  want  to  ask  you  one  thing,  if  I  may.  Are 
you  doing  this  for  my  sake  ?  Would  you  have  married 
Mr.  Julian  if  it  had  not  been  for  me  ? ' 

'  It  is  difficult  to  say  exactly.  It  is  possible  that  if 
I  had  had  no  relations  at  all,  I  might  have  married 
him.     And  I  might  not.' 

*  I  don't  intend  to  marry.' 

*  In  that  case  you  will  live  with  me  at  E  nek  worth. 
However,  we  will  leave  such  details  till  the  ground- 
work is  confirmed.  When  we  get  indoors  will  you  see 
if  the  boxes  have  been  properly  corded,  and  are  quite 
ready  to  be  sent  for  ?  Then  come  in  and  sit  by  the 
fire,  and  I'll  sing  some  songs  to  you.' 

390 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'Sad  ones,  you  mean.' 

*  No,  they  shall  not  be  sad/ 

'  Perhaps  they  may  be  the  last  you  will  ever  sing 
to  me.' 

'  They  may  be.     Such  a  thing  has  occurred.' 

*  But  we  will  not  think  so.  We'll  suppose  you  are 
to  sing  many  to  me  yet.' 

'Yes.  There's  good  sense  in  that,  Picotee.  In  a 
world  where  the  blind  only  are  cheerful  we  should  all 
do  well  to  put  out  our  eyes.  There,  I  did  not  mean  to 
get  into  this  state  :  forgive  me,  Picotee.  It  is  because 
I  have  had  a  thought — why  I  cannot  tell — that  as  much 
as  this  man  brings  to  me  in  rank  and  gifts  he  may  take 
out  of  me  in  tears.' 

'  Berta ! ' 

*  But  there's  no  reason  in  it — not  any  ;  for  not  in  a 
single  matter  does  what  has  been  supply  us  with  any 
certain  ground  for  knowing  what  will  be  in  the  world. 
I  have  seen  marriages  where  happiness  might  have 
been  said  to  be  ensured,  and  they  have  been  all  sadness 
afterwards ;  and  I  have  seen  those  in  which  the 
prospect  was  black  as  night,  and  they  have  led  on  to  a 
time  of  sweetness  and  comfort.  And  I  have  seen 
marriages  neither  joyful  nor  sorry,  that  have  become 
either  as  accident  forced  them  to  become,  the  persons 
having  no  voice  in  it  at  all.  Well,  then,  why  should  I 
be  afraid  to  make  a  plunge  when  chance  is  as  trust- 
worthy as  calculation  ? ' 

*  If  you  don't  like  him  well  enough,  don't  have  him, 
Berta.     There's  time  enough  to  put  it  off  even  now.' 

*  O  no.  I  would  not  upset  a  well-considered  course 
on  the  haste  of  an  impulse.  Our  will  should  withstand 
our  misgivings.  Now  let  us  see  if  all  has  been  packed, 
and  then  we'll  sing.' 

That  evening,  while  the  wind  was  wheeling  round 
and  round  the  dwelling,  and  the  calm  eye  of  the  light- 
house afar  was  the  single  speck  perceptible  of  the 
outside  world  from  the  door  of  Ethelberta's  temporary 
home,  the  music  of  songs  mingled  with  the  stroke  of 

391 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  wind  across  the  Iron  railings,  and  was  swept  on  in 
the  general  tide  of  the  gale,  and  the  noise  of  the  rolling 
sea,  till  not  the  echo  of  a  tone  remained. 

An  hour  before  this  singing,  an  old  gentleman 
might  have  been  seen  to  alight  from  a  little  one-horse 
brougham,  and  enter  the  door  of  Knollsea  parsonage. 
He  was  bent  upon  obtaining  an  entrance  to  the  vicar's 
study  without  giving  his  name. 

But  it  happened  that  the  vicar's  wife  was  sitting  in 
the  front  room,  making  a  pillow-case  for  the  children's 
bed  out  of  an  old  surplice  which  had  been  excom- 
municated the  previous  Easter ;  she  heard  the  new- 
comer's voice  through  the  partition,  started,  and  went 
quickly  to  her  husband,  who  was,  where  he  ought  to 
have  been,  in  his  study.  At  her  entry  he  looked  up 
with  an  abstracted  gaze,  having  been  lost  in  meditation 
over  a  little  schooner  which  he  was  attempting  to  rig 
for  their  youngest  boy.  At  a  word  from  his  wife  on 
the  suspected  name  of  the  visitor,  he  resumed  his 
earlier  occupation  of  inserting  a  few  strong  sentences, 
full  of  the  observation  of  maturer  life,  between  the  lines 
of  a  sermon  written  during  his  first  years  of  ordination, 
in  order  to  make  it  available  for  the  coming  Sunday. 
His  wife  then  vanished  with  the  little  ship  in  her  hand, 
and  the  visitor  appeared.     A  talk  went  on  in  low  tones. 

After  a  ten  minutes'  stay  he  departed  as  secretly 
as  he  had  come.  His  errand  was  the  cause  of  much 
whispered  discussion  between  the  vicar  and  his  wife 
during  the  evening,  but  nothing  was  said  concerning 
it  to  the  outside  world. 


SANDBOURNE 

A  LONELY  HEATH 
THE  'RED  LION' 

THE  HIGHWAY 

XLIV 

It  was  half-past  eleven  before  the  Spruce,  with  Mount- 
clere  and  Sol  Chickerel  on  board,  had  steamed  back 
again  to  Sandbourne.  The  direction  and  increase  of 
the  wind  had  made  it  necessary  to  keep  the  vessel 
still  further  to  sea  on  their  return  than  in  going,  that 
they  might  clear  without  risk  the  windy,  sousing, 
thwacking,  basting,  scourging  Jack  Ketch  of  a  corner 
called  Old-Harry  Point,  which  lay  about  halfway  along 
their  track,  and  stood,  with  its  detached  posts  and 
stumps  of  white  rock,  like  a  skeleton's  lower  jaw,  grin- 
ning at  British  navigation.  Here  strong  currents  and 
cross  currents  were  beginning  to  interweave  their 
scrolls  and  meshes,  the  water  rising  behind  them  in 
tumultuous  heaps,  and  slamming  against  the  fronts  and 
angles  of  cliff,  whence  it  flew  into  the  air  like  clouds  of 
flour.  Who  could  now  believe  that  this  roaring  abode 
of  chaos  smiled  in  the  sun  as  gendy  as  an  infant  during 
the  summer  days  not  long  gone  by,  every  pinnacle, 
crag,  and  cave  returning  a  doubled  image  across  the 
glassy  sea  ? 

They  were  now  again  at  Sandbourne,  a  point  in 
their  journey  reached  more  than  four  hours  ago.  ^  It 
became  necessary  to  consider  anew  how  to  accomplish 

393 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  difficult  remainder.  The  wind  was  not  blowing 
much  beyond  what  seamen  call  half  a  gale,  but  there 
had  been  enough  unpleasantness  afloat  to  make  lands- 
men glad  to  get  ashore,  and  this  dissipated  in  a  slight 
measure  their  vexation  at  having  failed  in  their  purpose. 
Still,  Mountclere  loudly  cursed  their  confidence  in  that 
treacherously  short  route,  and  Sol  abused  the  unknown 
Sandbourne  man  who  had  brought  the  news  of  the 
steamer's  arrival  to  them  at  the  Junction.  The  only 
course  left  open  to  them  now,  short  of  giving  up  the 
undertaking,  was  to  go  by  the  road  along  the  shore, 
which,  curving  round  the  various  little  creeks  and  inland 
seas  between  their  present  position  and  Knollsea,  was  of 
little  less  length  than  thirty  miles.  There  was  no  train 
back  to  the  Junction  till  the  next  morning,  and  Sol's 
proposition  that  they  should  drive  thither  in  hope  of 
meeting  the  mail-train,  was  overruled  by  Mountclere. 

'We  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  chance,'  he 
said.  '  We  may  miss  the  train,  and  then  we  shall  have 
gone  out  of  the  way  for  nothing.  More  than  that,  the 
down  mail  does  not  stop  till  it  gets  several  miles  beyond 
the  nearest  station  for  Knollsea  ;  so  it  is  hopeless.' 

'  If  there  had  only  been  a  telegraph  to  the  con- 
founded place ! ' 

'  Telegraph — we  might  as  well  telegraph  to  the 
devil  as  to  an  old  booby  and  a  damned  scheming 
young  widow.  I  very  much  question  if  we  shall  do 
anything  in  the  matter,  even  if  we  get  there.  But  I 
suppose  we  had  better  go  on  now^  ? ' 

*  You  can  do  as  you  like.  I  shall  go  on,  if  I  have 
to  walk  every  step  o't.' 

*  That's  not  necessary.  I  think  the  best  posting- 
house  at  this  end  of  the  town  is  Tempett's — we  must 
knock  them  up  at  once.  Which  will  you  do — attempt 
supper  here,  or  break  the  back  of  our  journey  first,  and 
get  on  to  Anglebur}'  ?  We  may  rest  an  hour  or  two 
there,  unless  you  feel  really  in  want  of  a  meal.' 

'No.  I'll  leave  eating  to  merrier  men,  who  have 
no  sister  in  the  hands  of  a  cursed  old  V^andal.' 

394 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'Very   well,'  said    Mountclere.      'We'll  go   on  at 

once.' 

An  additional  half-hour  elapsed  before  they  were 
fairly  started,  the  lateness  and  abruptness  of  their 
arrival  causing  delay  in  getting  a  conveyance  ready  : 
the  tempestuous  night  had  apparendy  driven  the 
whole  town,  gende  and  simple,  early  to  their  beds.  And 
when  at  length  the  travellers  were  on  their  way  the 
aspect  of  the  weather  grew  yet  more  forbidding.  The 
rain  came  down  unmercifully,  the  booming  wind  caught 
it,  bore  it  across  the  plain,  whizzed  it  against  the 
carriage  like  a  sower  sowing  his  seed.  It  was  precisely 
such  weather,  and  almost  at  the  same  season,  as  when 
Picotee  traversed  the  same  moor,  stricken  with  her 
great  disappointment  at  not  meeting  Christopher 
Julian. 

Further  on  for  several  miles  the  drive  lay  through 
an  open  heath,  dotted  occasionally  with  fir  plantations, 
the  trees  of  which  told  the  tale  of  their  species  without 
help  from  oudine  or  colour ;  they  spoke  in  those 
melancholy  moans  and  sobs  which  give  to  their  sound 
a  solemn  sadness  surpassing  even  that  of  the  sea. 
From  each  carriage-lamp  the  long  rays  stretched  like 
feelers  into  the  air,  and  somewhat  cheered  the  way,  until 
the  insidious  damp  that  pervaded  all  things  above, 
around,  and  underneath,  overpowered  one  of  them, 
and  rendered  every  attempt  to  rekindle  it  ineffectual. 
Even  had  the  two  men's  dislike  to  each  other's  society 
been  less,  the  general  din  of  the  night  would  have  pre- 
vented much  talking  ;  as  it  was,  they  sat  in  a  rigid 
reticence  that  was  almost  a  third  personality.  The 
roads  were  laid  hereabouts  with  a  light  sandy  gravel, 
which,  though  not  clogging,  was  soft  and  friable.  It 
speedily  became  saturated,  and  the  wheels  ground 
heavily  and  deeply  into  its  substance. 

At  length,  after  crossing  from  ten  to  twelve  miles 
of  these  eternal  heaths  under  the  eternally  drumming 
storm,  they  could  discern  eyelets  of  light  winking  to 
them  in  the  distance  from  under  a  nebulous  brow  of 

395 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

pale  haze.  They  were  looking  on  the  little  town  of 
Havenpool.  Soon  after  this  cross-roads  were  reached, 
one  of  which,  at  right  angles  to  their  present  direction, 
led  down  on  the  left  to  that  place.  Here  the  man 
stopped,  and  informed  them  that  the  horses  would  be 
able  to  go  but  a  mile  or  two  further. 

'  Very  well,  we  must  have  others  that  can,'  said 
Mountclere.      '  Does  our  way  lie  through  the  town  ? ' 

*  No,  sir — unless  we  go  there  to  change  horses, 
which  I  thought  to  do.  The  direct  road  is  straight  on. 
Havenpool  lies  about  three  miles  down  there  on  the 
left.  But  the  water  is  over  the  road,  and  we  had 
better  go  round.  We  shall  come  to  no  place  for  two 
or  three  miles,  and  then  only  to  Flychett.' 

*  What's  Flychett  like  ? ' 

*  A  trumpery  small  bit  of  a  village.* 

*  Still,  I  think  we  had  better  push  on,'  said  Sol.  *  I 
am  against  running  the  risk  of  finding  the  way  flooded 
about  Havenpool.' 

'  So  am  I,*  returned  Mountclere. 

*  I  know  a  wheelwright  in  Flychett,'  continued  Sol, 
*  and  he  keeps  a  beer-house,  and  owns  two  horses.  We 
could  hire  them,  and  have  a  bit  of  sommat  in  the 
shape  of  victuals,  and  then  get  on  to  Anglebury. 
Perhaps  the  rain  may  hold  up  by  that  time.  Any- 
thing's  better  than  going  out  of  our  way.' 

*  Yes.  And  the  horses  can  last  out  to  that  place,' 
said  Mountclere.      *  Up  and  on  again,  my  man.' 

On  they  went  towards  Flychett.  Still  the  ever- 
lasting heath,  the  black  hills  bulging  against  the  sky, 
the  barrows  upon  their  round  summits  like  warts  on  a 
swarthy  skin.  The  storm  blew  huskily  over  bushes  of 
heather  and  furze  that  it  was  unable  materially  to 
disturb,  and  the  travellers  proceeded  as  before.  But  the 
horses  were  now  far  from  fresh,  and  the  time  spent  in 
reaching  the  next  village  was  quite  half  as  long  as  that 
taken  up  by  the  previous  heavy  portion  of  the  drive. 
When  they  entered  Flychett  it  was  about  three. 

*  Now,  Where's  the  inn  ? '  said  Mountclere,  yawning. 

396 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  Just  on  the  knap,'  Sol  answered.  '  'Tis  a  little 
small  place,  and  we  must  do  as  well  as  we  can.' 

They  pulled  up  before  a  cottage,  upon  the  white- 
washed front  of  which  could  be  seen  a  square  board 
representing  the  sign.  After  an  infinite  labour  of 
rapping  and  shouting,  a  casement  opened  overhead, 
and  a  woman's  voice  inquired  what  was  the  matter. 
Sol  explained,  when  she  told  them  that  the  horses 
were  away  from  home. 

'  Now  we  must  wait  till  these  are  rested,'  growled 
Mountclere.     *  A  pretty  muddle  ! ' 

'  It  cannot  be  helped,'  answered  Sol ;  and  he  asked 
the  woman  to  open  the  door.  She  replied  that  her 
husband  was  away  with  the  horses  and  van,  and  that 
they  could  not  come  in. 

Sol  was  known  to  her,  and  he  mentioned  his  name  ; 
but  the  woman  only  began  to  abuse  him. 

*  Come,  publican,  you'd  better  let  us  in,  or  we'll 
have  the  law  for't,'  rejoined  Sol,  with  more  spirit. 
'You  don't  dare  to  keep  nobility  waiting  like  this.' 

'  Nobility ! ' 

*  My  mate  bears  the  title  of  Honourable,  whether 
or  no  ;  so  let's  have  none  of  your  slack,'  said  Sol. 

*  Don't  be  a  fool,  young  chopstick,'  exclaimed 
Mountclere.     *  Get  the  door  opened.* 

*I  will — in  my  own  way,'  said  Sol  testily.  'You 
mustn't  mind  my  trading  upon  your  quality,  as  'tis  a 
case  of  necessity.  This  Is  a  woman  nothing  will  bring 
to  reason  but  an  appeal  to  the  higher  powers.  If  every 
man  of  title  was  as  useful  as  you  are  to-night,  sir,  I'd 
never  call  them  lumber  again  as  long  as  I  live.' 

*  How  singular  ! ' 

*  There's  never  a  bit  of  rubbish  that  won't  come  m 
use  if  you  keep  it  seven  years.' 

'  If  my  utility  depends  upon  keeping  you  company, 

may    I   go   to  h for  lacking  every  atom   of  the 

virtue.' 

'  Hear,  hear!  But  it  hardly  is  becoming  in  me  to 
answer  up  to  a  man  so  much  older  than  I,  or  I  could 

397 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

say  more.      Suppose  we  draw   a   line   here    for    the 
present,  sir,  and  get  indoors  ? ' 

*  Do  what  you  will,  in  Heaven's  name.' 

A  few  more  words  to  the  woman  resulted  in  her 
agreeing  to  admit  them  if  they  would  attend  to  them- 
selves afterwards.  This  Sol  promised,  and  the  key  of 
the  door  was  let  down  to  them  from  the  bedroom 
window  by  a  string.  When  they  had  entered,  Sol, 
who  knew  the  house  well,  busied  himself  in  lighting  a 
fire,  the  driver  going  off  with  a  lantern  to  the  stable, 
where  he  found  standing-room  for  the  two  horses. 
Mountclere  walked  up  and  down  the  kitchen,  mumbling 
words  of  disgust  at  the  situation,  the  few  of  this  kind 
that  he  let  out  being  just  enough  to  show  what  a 
fearfully  large  number  he  kept  in. 

'  A-calling  up  people  at  this  time  of  morning  ! '  the 
woman  occasionally  exclaimed  down  the  stairs.  *  But 
folks  show  no  mercy  upon  their  flesh  and  blood — not 
one  bit  or  mite.' 

*  Now  never  be  stomachy,  my  good  soul,'  cried  Sol 
from  the  fireplace,  where  he  stood  blowing  the  fire 
with  his  breath.  '  Only  tell  me  where  the  victuals 
bide,  and  I'll  do  all  the  cooking.  We'll  pay  like 
princes — especially  my  mate.' 

'  There's  but  little  in  house,'  said  the  sleepy  woman 
from  her  bedroom.  *  There's  pig's  fry,  a  side  of  bacon, 
a  conger  eel,  and  pickled  onions.' 

*  Conger  eel  ? '  said  Sol  to  Mountclere. 

*  No,  thank  you.' 

*  Pig's  fry  ? ' 

*  No,  thank  you.* 

'Well,  then,  tell  me  where  the  bacon  is,'  shouted 
Sol  to  the  woman. 

'  You  must  find  it,'  came  again  down  the  stairs. 
'  'Tis  somewhere  up  in  chimley,  but  in  which  part  I 
can't  mind.  Really  I  don't  know  whether  I  be  upon 
my  head  or  my  heels,  and  my  brain  is  all  in  a  spin,  wi' 
being  rafted  up  in  such  a  larry ! ' 

*  Bide    where   you   be,    there's   a   dear,'  said   Sol. 

398 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

•We'll  do  it  all.     Just  tell  us  where  the  tea-caddy  is, 
and  the  gridiron,  and  then  you  can  go  to  sleep  again.' 
The  woman  appeared  to  take  his  advice,  for  she 
gave   the   information,   and  silence   soon   reigned   up- 

stairs 

When  one  piece  of  bacon  had  been  with  difficulty 
cooked  over  the  newly-lit  fire,  Sol  said  to  Mountclere, 
with  the  rasher  on  his  fork  :  'Now  look  here,  sir,  I 
think  while  I  am  making  the  tea,  you  ought  to  go  on 
griddling  some  more  of  these,  as  you  haven't  done 
nothing  at  all  ? '  ^ 

*  I  do  the  paying.  .   .  .  Well,  give  me  the  bacon. 

'And  when  you  have  done  yours,  I'll  cook  the 
man's,  as  the  poor  feller's  hungry,  I  make  no  doubt.'  ^ 

Mountclere,  fork  in  hand,  then  began  with  his 
rasher,  tossing  it  about  the  gridiron  in  masterly  style, 
Sol  attending  to  the  tea.  He  was  attracted  from 
this  occupation  by  a  brilliant  flame  up  the  chlrnney, 
Mountclere  exclaiming,   *  Now  the  cursed  thing  is  on 

fire ! ' 

'  Blow  it  out— hard— that's  It !  Well  now,  sir,  do 
you  come  and  begin  upon  mine,  as  you  must  be  hungry. 
I'll  finish  the  griddling.  Ought  we  to  mind  the  man 
sitting  down  in  our  company,  as  there's  no  other  room 
for  him  ?     I  hear  him  coming  in.' 

« O  no — not  at  all.      Put  him  over  at  that  table.' 

♦And  I'll  join  him.     You  can  sit  here  by  yourself 

•    » 

sir. 

The  meal  was  despatched,  and  the  coachman  again 
retired,  promising  to  have  the  horses  ready  In  about  an 
hour  and  a  half  Sol  and  INIountclere  made  themselves 
comfortable  upon  either  side  of  the  fireplace,^  since 
there  was  no  remedy  for  the  delay  :  after  sitting  in 
silence  awhile,  they  nodded  and  slept. 

How  long  they  would  have  remained  thus,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  fatigues,  there  is  no  telling,  had  not 
the  mistress  of  the  cottage  descended  the  stairs  about 
two  hours  later,  after  peeping  down  upon  them  at 
intervals  of  five  minutes  during  their  sleep,  lest  they 

399 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

should  leave  without  her  knowledge.  It  was  six 
o'clock,  and  Sol  went  out  for  the  man,  whom  he  found 
snoring  in  the  hay-loft.  There  was  now  real  necessity 
for  haste,  and  in  ten  minutes  they  were  again  on  their 
way. 

Day  dawned  upon  the  *  Red  Lion '  inn  at  Angle- 
bury  with  a  timid  and  watery  eye.  From  the  shadowy 
archway  came  a  shining  lantern,  which  was  seen  to  be 
dangling  from  the  hand  of  a  little  bow-legged  old  man 
— the  hostler,  John.  Having  reached  the  front,  he 
looked  around  to  measure  the  daylight,  opened  the 
lantern,  and  extinguished  it  by  a  pinch  of  his  fingers. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  to  have  the  customary  word 
or  two  with  his  neighbour  the  milkman,  who  usually 
appeared  at  this  point  at  this  time. 

'  It  sounds  like  the  whistle  of  the  morning  train,' 
the  milkman  said  as  he  drew  near,  a  scream  from  the 
further  end  of  the  town  reaching  their  ears.  '  Well,  I 
hope,  now  the  wind's  in  that  quarter,  we  shall  ha'e  a 
little  more  fine  weather — hey,  hostler  ?  ' 

*  What  be  ye  a  talking  o'  ?  ' 

'  Can  hear  the  whistle  plain,  I  say.' 

*  O  ay.  I  suppose  you  do.  But  faith,  'tis  a  poor 
fist  I  can  make  at  hearing  anything.  There,  I  could 
have  told  all  the  same  that  the  wind  was  in  the  east, 
even  if  I  had  not  seed  poor  Thomas  Tribble's  smoke 
blowing  across  the  little  orchard.  Joints  be  a  true 
weathercock  enough  when  past  three-score.  These 
easterly  rains,  when  they  do  come,  which  is  not  often, 
come  wi'  might  enough  to  squail  a  man  into  his 
grave/ 

'Well,  we  must  look  for  it,  hostler.  .  .  .  Why, 
what  mighty  ekkypage  is  this,  come  to  town  at  such  a 
purblinking  time  of  day  ?  ' 

'  'Tis  what  time  only  can  tell — though  'twill  not  be 
long  first,'  the  hostler  replied,  as  the  driver  of  the  pair 
of  horses  and  carriage  containing  Sol  and  Mountclere 
slackened  pace,  and  drew  rein  before  the  inn. 

400 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Fresh  horses  were  immediately  called  for,  and 
while  they  were  being  put  in  the  two  travellers  walked 
up  and  down. 

*  It  is  now  a  quarter  to  seven  o'clock,'  said  Mount- 
clere  ;  '  and  the  question  arises,  shall  I  go  on  to  Knoll- 
sea,  or  branch  off  at  Corvsgate  Castle  for  E  nek  worth  ? 
I  think  the  best  plan  will  be  to  drive  first  to  Enckworth, 
set  me  down,  and  then  get  him  to  take  you  on  at 
once  to  Knollsea.     What  do  you  say  ? ' 

*  When  shall  I  reach  Knollsea  by  that  arrange- 
ment ? ' 

'  By  half- past  eight  o'clock.  We  shall  be  at 
Enckworth  before  eight,  which  is  excellent  time.' 

'Very  well,  sir,  I  agree  to  that,'  said  Sol,  feeling 
that  as  soon  as  one  of  the  two  birds  had  been  caught, 
the  other  could  not  mate  without  their  knowledgre. 

The  carriage  and  horses  being  again  ready,  away 
they  drove  at  once,  both  having  by  this  time  grown 
too  restless  to  spend  in  Anglebury  a  minute  more  than 
was  necessary. 

The  hostler  and  his  lad  had  taken  the  jaded  Sand- 
bourne  horses  to  the  stable,  rubbed  them  down,  and 
fed  them,  when  another  noise  was  heard  outside  the 
yard ;  the  omnibus  had  returned  from  meeting  the 
train.  Relinquishing  the  horses  to  the  small  stable- 
lad,  the  old  hostler  again  looked  out  from  the  arch. 

A  young  man  had  stepped  from  the  omnibus,  and 
he  came  forward.  '  I  want  a  conveyance  of  some  sort 
to  take  me  to  Knollsea,  at  once.  Can  you  get  a  horse 
harnessed  in  five  minutes  ? ' 

*  I'll  make  shift  to  do  what  I  can  master,  not  pro- 
mising about  the  minutes.  The  truest  man  can  say  no 
more.  Won't  ye  step  into  the  bar,  sir,  and  give  your 
order?     I'll  let  ye  know  as  soon  as  'tis  ready.' 

Christopher  turned  into  a  room  smelling  strongly 
of  the  night  before,  and  stood  by  the  newly-kindled  tire 
to  wait.  He  had  just  come  in  haste  from  Melchester. 
The  upshot  of  his  excitement  about  the  wedding, 
which,  as  the  possible  hour  of  its  solemnization  drew 

401 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

near,  had  increased  till  it  bore  him  on  like  a  wind, 
was  this  unpremeditated  journey.  Lying  awake  the 
previous  night,  the  hangings  of  his  bed  pulsing  to 
every  beat  of  his  heart,  he  decided  that  there  was  one 
last  and  great  service  which  it  behoved  him,  as  an 
honest  man  and  friend,  to  say  nothing  of  lover,  to 
render  to  Ethelberta  at  this  juncture.  It  was  to  ask 
her  by  some  means  whether  or  not  she  had  engaged 
with  open  eyes  to  marry  Lord  jNIountclere  ;  and  if  not, 
to  give  her  a  word  or  two  of  enlightenm.ent.  That 
done,  she  might  be  left  to  take  care  of  herself. 

His  plan  was  to  obtain  an  interview  with  Picotee, 
and  learn  from  her  accurately  the  state  of  things. 
Should  he,  by  any  possibility,  be  mistaken  in  his  belief 
as  to  the  contracting  parties,  a  knowledge  of  the 
mistake  would  be  cheaply  purchased  by  the  journey. 
Should  he  not,  he  would  send  up  to  Ethelberta  the 
strong  note  of  expostulation  which  was  already  written, 
and  waiting  in  his  pocket.  To  intrude  upon  her  at 
such  a  time  was  unseemly  ;  and  to  despatch  a  letter 
by  a  messenger  before  evidence  of  its  necessity  had 
been  received  was  most  undesirable.  The  whole 
proceeding  at  best  was  clumsy ;  yet  earnestness  is 
mostly  clumsy  ;  and  how  could  he  let  the  event  pass 
without  a  protest  ?  Before  daylight  on  that  autumn 
morning  he  had  risen,  told  Faith  of  his  intention,  and 
started  off. 

As  soon  as  the  vehicle  was  ready,  Christopher 
hastened  to  the  door  and  stepped  up.  The  little 
stable-boy  led  the  horse  a  few  paces  on  the  way 
before  relinquishing  his  hold  ;  at  the  same  moment  a 
respectably  dressed  man  on  foot,  with  a  small  black 
bag  in  his  hand,  came  up  from  the  opposite  direction, 
along  the  street  leading  from  the  railway.  He  was  a 
thin,  elderly  man,  with  grey  hair  ;  that  a  great  anxiety 
pervaded  him  was  as  plainly  visible  as  were  his  features. 
Without  entering  the  inn,  he  came  up  at  once  to  old 
John. 

*  Have  you  anything  going  to  Knollsea  this  morning 

402 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

that  I  can  get  a  lift  in  ? '  said  the  pedestrian — no  other 
than  Ethelberta's  father. 

*  Nothing  empty,  that  I  know  of.* 

*  Or  carrier  ?  * 
'No.' 

*  A  matter  of  fifteen  shillings,  then,  I  suppose  ?  * 
*Yes — no  doubt.      But  yond  there's  a  young  man 

just  now  starting ;  he  might  not  take  it  ill  if  ye  were 
to  ask  him  for  a  seat,  and  go  halves  in  the  hire  of  the 
trap.     Shall  I  call  out  ?  * 

'Ah,  do.' 

The  hostler  bawled  to  the  stable-boy,  who  put  the 
question  to  Christopher.  There  was  room  for  two  in 
the  dogcart,  and  Julian  had  no  objection  to  save  the 
shillings  of  a  fellow-traveller  who  was  evidently  not 
rich.  When  Chickerel  mounted  to  his  seat,  Christopher 
paused  to  look  at  him  as  we  pause  in  some  enactment 
that  seems  to  have  been  already  before  us  in  a  dream 
long  ago.  Ethelberta's  face  was  there,  as  the  land- 
scape is  in  the  map,  the  romance  in  the  history,  the 
aim  in  the  deed :  denuded,  rayless,  and  sorry,  but 
discernible. 

For  the  moment,  however,  this  did  not  occur  to 
Julian.  He  took  the  whip,  the  boy  loosed  his  hold 
upon  the  horse,  and  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 

'What  slap-dash  jinks  may  there  be  going  on  at 
Knollsea,  then,  my  sonny  ? '  said  the  hostler  to  the  lad, 
as  the  dogcart  and  the  backs  of  the  two  men  diminished 
on  the  road.  *  You  be  a  Knollsea  boy  :  have  anything 
reached  your  young  ears  about  what's  in  the  wind 
there,  David  Straw  ?  ' 

*  No,  nothing  :  except  that  'tis  going  to  be  Christ- 
mas day  in  five  weeks  :  and  then  a  hide-bound  bull  is 
going  to  be  killed  if  he  don't  die  afore  the  time,  and 
gi'ed  away  by  my  lord  in  three -pound  junks,  as  a 
reward  to  good  people  who  never  curse  and  sing  bad 
songs,  except  when  they  be  drunk ;  mother  says 
perhaps  she  will  have  some,  and  'tis  excellent  if  well 
stewed,  mother  says.' 

403 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*A  very  fair  chronicle  for  a  boy  to  give,  but  not 
what  I  asked  for.  When  you  try  to  answer  a  old 
man's  question,  always  bear  in  mind  what  it  was  that 
old  man  asked.  A  hide-bound  bull  is  good  when  well 
stewed,  I  make  no  doubt — for  they  who  like  it ;  but 
that's  not  it.  What  I  said  was,  do  you  know  w^hy 
three  folk,  a  rich  man,  a  middling  man,  and  a  poor 
man,  should  want  horses  for  Knollsea  afore  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  on  a  blinking  day  in  Fall, 
when  everything  is  as  wet  as  a  dishclout,  whereas 
that's  more  than  often  happens  in  fine  summer 
weather  ? ' 

*  No — I  don't  know,  hostler.' 

*  Then  go  home  and  tell  your  mother  that  ye  be 
no  wide-awake  boy,  and  that  old  John,  who  went  to 
school  with  her  father  afore  she  was  born  or  thought 
o',  says  so.  .  .  .  Chok'  it  all,  why  should  I  think 
there's  sommat  going  on  at  Knollsea?  Honest 
travelling  have  been  so  rascally  abused  since  I  was 
a  boy  in  pinners,  by  tribes  of  nobodies  tearing  from 
one  end  of  the  country  to  t'other,  to  see  the  sun  go 
down  in  salt  water,  or  the  moon  play  jack -lantern 
behind  some  rotten  tower  or  other,  that,  upon  my 
song,  when  life  and  death's  in  the  wind  there's  no 
telling  the  difference  !  ' 

'  I  like  their  sixpences  ever  so  much.' 

'  Young  sonny,  don't  you  answer  up  to  me  when 
you  bain't  in  the  story — stopping  my  words  in  that 
fashion.  I  won't  have  it,  David.  Now  up  in  the 
tallet  with  'ee,  there's  a  good  boy,  and  down  with 
another  lock  or  two  of  hay — as  fast  as  you  can  do  it 
for  me.' 

The  boy  vanished  under  the  archway,  and  the 
hostler  followed  at  his  heels.  Meanwhile  the  carriage 
bearing  Mr.  Mountclere  and  Sol  was  speeding  on  its 
way  to  E  nek  worth.  When  they  reached  the  spot  at 
which  the  road  forked  into  two,  they  left  the  Knollsea 
route,  and  keeping  thence  between  the  hills  for  the  dis- 
tance of  five  or  six  miles,  drove  into  Lord  Mountclere's 

404 


A  COMEDY  liN   CHAPTERS 

park.      In   ten   minutes  the  house  was   before  them, 
framed  in  by  dripping  trees. 

Mountclere  jumped  out,  and  entered  without  cere- 
mony. Sol,  being  anxious  to  know  if  Lord  Mountclere 
was  there,  ordered  the  coachman  to  wait  a  few 
moments.  It  was  now  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  the 
smoke  which  ascended  from  the  newly-lit  fires  of  the 
Court  painted  soft  blue  tints  upon  the  brown  and 
golden  leaves  of  lofty  boughs  adjoining. 

*  O,  Ethelberta ! '  said  Sol,  as  he  regarded  the  fair 
prospect. 

The  gravel  of  the  drive  had  been  washed  clean 
and  smooth  by  the  night's  rain,  but  there  were  fresh 
wheel-marks  other  than  their  own  upon  the  track. 
Yet  the  mansion  seemed  scarcely  awake,  and  stillness 
reigned  everywhere  around. 

Not  more  than  three  or  four  minutes  had  passed 
when  the  door  was  opened  for  Mountclere,  and  he 
came  hastily  from  the  doorsteps. 

*  I  must  go  on  with  you,'  he  said,  getting  into  the 
vehicle.      '  He's  grone.' 

'Where — to  Knollsea.'^'  said  Sol. 

*  Yes,'  said  Mountclere.  *  Now,  go  ahead  to 
Knollsea ! '  he  shouted  to  the  man.  *  To  think  I 
should  be  fooled  like  this !  I  had  no  idea  that 
he  would  be  leaving  so  soon !  We  might  perhaps 
have  been  here  an  hour  earlier  by  hard  striving. 
But  who  was  to  dream  that  he  would  arrange  to 
leave  it  at  such  an  unearthly  time  of  the  morning 
at  this  dark  season  of  the  year  }  Drive — drive ! '  he 
called  again  out  of  the  window,  and  the  pace  was 
increased. 

'  I  have  come  two  or  three  miles  out  of  my  way  on 
account  of  you,'  said  Sol  sullenly.  *  And  all  this  time 
lost.  I  don't  see  why  you  wanted  to  come  here  at  all. 
I  knew  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time.' 

*  Damn  it  all,  man,'  said  Mountclere ;  *  it  is  no  use 
for  you  to  be  angry  with  me !  ' 

*  I  think  it  is,  for  'tis  you  have  brought  me  into  this 

405 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

muddle,'  said  Sol,  In  no  sweeter  tone.  'Ha,  ha! 
Upon  my  life  I  should  be  inclined  to  laugh,  if  I  were 
not  so  much  inclined  to  do  the  other  thing,  at  Berta's 
trick  of  trying  to  make  close  family  allies  of  such  a 
cantankerous  pair  as  you  and  I  !  So  much  of  one 
mind  as  we  be,  so  alike  in  our  ways  of  living,  so  close 
connected  In  our  callings  and  principles,  so  matched 
in  manners  and  customs !  'twould  be  a  thousand  pities 
to  part  us — hey,  Mr.  Mountclere  • ' 

Mountclere  faindy  laughed  with  the  same  hideous 
merriment  at  the  same  Idea,  and  then  both  remained 
in  a  withering  silence,  meant  to  express  the  utter 
contempt  of  each  for  the  other,  both  in  family  and  in 
person.  They  passed  the  Lodge,  and  again  swept 
into  the  high-road. 

'  Drive  on ! '  said  Mountclere,  putting  his  head 
again  out  of  the  window,  and  shouting  to  the  man. 
*  Drive  like  the  devil ! '  he  roared  again  a  few  minutes 
afterwards,  in  fuming  dissatisfaction  with  their  rate  of 
progress. 

'  Bain't  I  doing  of  it  ? '  said  the  driver,  turning 
angrily  round.  *  I  ain't  going  to  ruin  my  governor's 
horses  for  strangers  who  won't  pay  double  for  'em — 
not  I.  I  am  driving  as  fast  as  I  can.  If  other  folks 
get  in  the  way  with  their  traps  I  suppose  I  must  drive 
round  'em,  sir  ? ' 

There  was  a  slight  crash. 

*  There  ! '  continued  the  coachman.  *  That's  what 
comes  of  my  turning  round  ! ' 

Sol  looked  out  on  the  other  side,  and  found  that 
the  forewheel  of  their  carriage  had  become  locked  in 
the  wheel  of  a  dogcart  they  had  overtaken,  the  road 
here  being  very  narrow.  Their  coachman,  who  knew 
he  was  to  blame  for  this  mishap,  felt  the  advantage 
of  taking  time  by  the  forelock  in  a  case  of  accusation, 
and  began  swearing  at  his  victim  as  If  he  were  the 
sinner.  Sol  jumped  out,  and  looking  up  at  the 
occupants  of  the  other  conveyance,  saw  against  the 
sky  the  back  elevation  of  his  father  and  Christopher 

406 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Julian,  sitting  upon  a  little  seat  which  they  overhung, 
like  two  big  puddings  upon  a  small  dish. 

'Father — what,  you  going?*  said  Sol.  *  Is  it 
about  Berta  that  you've  come  ?  ' 

'Yes,  I  got  your  letter,'  said  Chickerel,  'and  I  felt 
I  should  like  to  come — that  I  ought  to  come,  to  save 
her  from  what  she'll  regret.  Luckily,  this  gentleman, 
a  stranger  to  me,  has  given  me  a  lift  from  Anglebury, 
or  I  must  have  hired.'     He  pointed  to  Christopher. 

'  But  he's  Mr.  Julian  ! '  said  Sol. 

'You  are  Mrs.  Petherwin's  father? — I  have  travelled 
in  your  company  without  knowing  it ! '  exclaimed  Chris- 
topher, feeling  and  looking  both  astonished  and  puzzled. 
At  first,  it  had  appeared  to  him  that,  in  direct  anta- 
gonism to  his  own  purpose,  her  friends  were  favouring 
Ethelberta's  wedding  ;  but  it  was  evidently  other- 
wise. 

'Yes,  that's  father,'  said  Sol.  'Father,  this  is 
Mr.  Julian.  Mr.  Julian,  this  gentleman  here  is  Lord 
Mountclere's  brother — and,  to  cut  the  story  short,  we 
all  wish  to  stop  the  wedding.' 

Then  let  us  get  on,  in  Heaven's  name!*  said 
Mountclere.     '  You  are  the  lady's  father  ?  ' 

'  I  am,'  said  Chickerel. 

'  Then  you  had  better  come  into  this  carriage. 
We  shall  go  faster  than  the  dogcart.  Now,  driver, 
are  the  wheels  right  again  ? ' 

Chickerel  hastily  entered  with  Mountclere,  Sol 
joined  them,  and  they  sped  on.  Christopher  drove 
close  in  their  rear,  not  quite  certain  whether  he  did 
well  in  going  further,  now  that  there  were  plenty  of 
people  to  attend  to  the  business,  but  anxious  to  see 
the  end.  The  other  three  sat  in  silence,  with  their 
eyes  upon'  their  knees,  though  the  clouds  were  dis- 
persing, and  the  morning  grew  bright.  In  about 
twenty  minutes  the  square  unembattled  tower  of 
Knollsea  Church  appeared  below  them  in  the  vale, 
its  summit  just  touching  the  distant  line  of  sea  upon 
sky.     The  element  by  which  they  had  been  victimized 

407 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

on  the  previous  evening  now  smiled  falsely  to  the  low 
morning  sun. 

They  descended  the  road  to  the  village  at  a  litde 
more  mannerly  pace  than  that  of  the  earlier  journey, 
and  saw  the  rays  glance  upon  the  hands  of  the  church 
dock,  which  marked  five -and- twenty  minutes  to  nine. 


KNOLLSEA 
THE   ROAD    THENCE 

ENCKWORTH 

XLV 

All  eyes  were  directed  to  the  church-gate,  as  the 
travellers  descended  the  hill.  No  wedding  carriages 
were  there,  no  favours,  no  slatternly  group  of  women 
brimming  with  interest,  no  aged  pauper  on  two  sticks, 
who  comes  because  he  has  nothing  else  to  do  till  dying 
time,  no  nameless  female  passing  by  on  the  other  side 
with  a  laugh  of  indifference,  no  ringers  taking  off  their 
coats  as  they  vanish  up  a  turret,  no  hobbledehoys  on 
tiptoe  outside  the  chancel  windows — in  short,  none 
whatever  of  the  customary  accessories  of  a  country 
wedding  was  anywhere  visible. 

*  Thank  God  ! '  said  Chickerel. 

*  Wait  till  you  know  he  deserves  it,'  said  Mountclere. 

*  Nothing's  done  yet  between  them.' 

*  It  is  not  likely  that  anything  is  done  at  this  time 
of  day.  But  I  have  decided  to  go  to  the  church  first. 
You  will  probably  go  to  your  relative's  house  at 
once  ? ' 

Sol  looked  to  his  father  for  a  reply. 

'  No,  I  too  shall  go  to  the  church  first,  just  to 
assure  myself,'  said  Chickerel.  '  I  shall  then  go  on  to 
Mrs.  Petherwin's.' 

The  carriage  was  stopped  at  the  corner  of  a  steep 
incline  leading  down  to  the  edifice.     Mountclere  and 

409 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Chlckerel  alighted  and  walked  on  towards  the  gates, 
Sol  remaining  in  his  place.  Christopher  was  some 
way  off,  descending  the  hill  on  foot,  having  halted  to 
leave  his  horse  and  trap  at  a  small  inn  at  the  entrance 
to  the  villas^e. 

When  Chickerel  and  Mountclere  reached  the 
churchyard  gate  they  found  it  slightly  open.  The 
church-door  beyond  it  was  also  open,  but  nobody  was 
near  the  spoL 

*  We  have  arrived  not  a  minute  too  soon,  however,' 
said  Mountclere.  '  Preparations  have  apparently 
begun.     It  was  to  be  an  early  wedding,  no  doubt.* 

Enterinor  the  building:,  thev  looked  around  ;  it  was 
quite  empty.  Chickerel  turned  towards  the  chancel, 
his  eye  being  attracted  by  a  red  kneeling-cushion, 
placed  at  about  the  middle  of  the  altar- railing,  as  if  for 
early  use.  Mountclere  strode  to  the  vestry,  somewhat 
at  a  loss  how  to  proceed  in  his  difficult  task  of  un- 
earthing his  brother,  obtaining  a  private  interview 
with  him.  and  then,  by  the  introduction  of  Sol  and 
Chickerel,  causing  a  general  convulsion. 

*  Ha!  here's  somebody,'  he  said,  observing  a  man 
in  the  vestr>'.  He  advanced  with  the  intention  of 
asking  where  Lord  Mountclere  was  to  be  found. 
Chickerel  came  forward  in  the  same  direction. 

'  Are  you  the  parish  clerk  ? '  said  Mountclere  to  the 
man,  who  was  dressed  up  in  his  best  clothes. 

*  I  have  the  honour  of  that  calling,'  the  man  replied. 
Two   large    books   were   lying   before   him  on  the 

vestry  table,  one  of  them  being  open.  As  the  clerk 
spoke  he  looked  slantingly  on  the  page,  as  a  person 
might  do  to  discover  if  some  writing  were  dry.  Mount- 
clere and  Chickerel  gazed  on  the  same  page.  The  book 
was  the  marriage-register. 

*  Too  late  I '  said  Chickerel. 

There  plainly  enough  stood  the  signatures  of  Lord 
Mountclere  and  Ethelberta.  The  viscount's  was  very 
black,  and  had  not  yet  dried.  Her  strokes  were  firm, 
and  comparatively  thick  for  a  woman's,  though  paled 

410 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

by  juxtaposition  with  her  husband's  muddled  characters. 
In  the  space  for  witnesses'  names  appeared  in  trembling 
lines  as  fine  as  silk  the  autograph  of  Picotee,  the 
second  name  being   that  of  a  stranger,  probably  the 

clerk,  ^      .,  Tvc 

•Yes,  yes — we  are  too  late,  it  seems,'  said  Mount- 
clere  coolly.  *  Who  could  have  thought  they'd  marry 
at  eight ! ' 

Chlckerel  stood  like  a  man  baked  hard  and  dry. 
Further  than  his  first  two  words  he  could  say  nothing.^ 

'  They  must  have  set  about  it  early,  upon  my  soul,' 
Mountclere  continued.  '  When  did  the  wedding  take 
place  ? '  he  asked  of  the  clerk  sharply. 

'  It  was  over  about  five  minutes  before  you  came  in,* 
replied  that  luminar>-  pleasantly,  as  he  played  at  an  in- 
visible game  of  pitch-and-toss  with  some  half-sovereigns 
in  his  pocket.  *  I  received  orders  to  have  the  church 
ready  at  five  minutes  to  eight  this  morning,  though  I 
knew  nothing  about  such  a  thing  till  bedtime  last 
night.  It  was  ver)'  private  and  plain,  not  that  I  should 
mmd  another  such  a  one,  sir ' ;  and  he  secredy  pitched 
and  tossed  a^rain. 

Meanwhile  Sol  had  found  himself  too  resdess  to  sit 
waiting  in  the  carriage  for  more  than  a  minute  after 
the  other  two  had  left  it.  He  stepped  out  at  the  same 
instant  that  Christopher  came  past,  and  together  they 
too  went  on  to  the  church. 

'  Father,  ought  we  not  to  go  on  at  once  to  Ethel- 
berta's,  instead  of  waiting?'  said  Sol,  on  reaching  the 
vestry,  still  in  ignorance.     * 'Twas  no  use  in  coming 

here.* 

*  No  use  at  all,'  said  Chickerel.  as  if  he  had  straw  m 
his  throat.  '  Look  at  this.  I  would  almost  sooner 
have  had  it  that  in  leaving  this  church  I  came  from  her 
grave— well,  no,  perhaps  not  that,  but  I  fear  it  is  a  bad 

thing.*  . 

Sol  then  saw  the  names  in  the  register,  Christopher 
saw  them,  and  the  man  closed  the  book.  Christopher 
could  not  well  command  himself,  and  he  retired. 

411 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  I  knew  it.  I  always  said  that  pride  would  lead 
Berta  to  marry  an  unworthy  man,  and  so  it  has ! '  said 
Sol  bitterly.     '  What  shall  we  do  now  ?     I'll  see  her.' 

'  Do  no  such  thing,  young  man,'  said  Mountclere. 
'  The  best  course  is  to  leave  matters  alone.  They  are 
married.  If  you  are  wise,  you  will  try  to  think  the 
match  a  good  one,  and  be  content  to  let  her  keep  her 
position  without  inconveniencing  her  by  your  intrusions 
or  complaints.  It  is  possible  that  the  satisfaction  of 
her  ambition  will  help  her  to  endure  any  few  surprises 
to  her  propriety  that  may  occur.  She  is  a  clever  young 
woman,  and  has  played  her  cards  adroidy.  I  only 
hope  she  may  never  repent  of  the  game!  A-hem. 
Good  morning.'  Saying  this,  Mountclere  slighdy 
bowed  to  his  relations,  and  marched  out  of  the  church 
with  dignity  ;  but  it  was  told  afterwards  by  the  coach- 
man, who  had  no  love  for  Mountclere,  that  when  he 
stepped  into  the  fly,  and  was  as  he  believed  unobserved, 
he  was  quite  overcome  with  fatuous  rage,  his  lips 
frothing  like  a  mug  of  hot  ale. 

'  What  an  impertinent  gendeman  'tis,'  said 
Chickerel.  '  As  if  we  had  tried  for  her  to  marry  his 
brother ! ' 

'  He  knows  better  than  that,'  said  Sol.  '  But  he'll 
never  believe  that  Berta  didn't  lay  a  trap  for  the  old 
fellow.  He  thinks  at  this  moment  that  Lord  Mount- 
clere has  never  been  told  of  us  and  our  belongings.' 

'I  wonder  if  she  has  deceived  him  in  anything,' 
murmured  Chickerel.  '  I  can  hardly  suppose  it.  But 
she  is  altogether  beyond  me.  However,  if  she  has 
misled  him  on  any  point  she  will  suffer  for  it.* 

'You  need  not  fear  that,  father.  It  isn't  her  way 
of  working.  Why  couldn't  she  have  known  that  when 
a  tide  is  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  the  owner  must  be  a 
shocking  one  indeed  ? ' 

*  The  tide  is  well  enough.  Any  poor  scrubs  in  our 
place  must  be  fools  not  to  think  the  match  a  very  rare 
and  astonishing  honour,  as  far  as  the  position  goes. 
But  that   my  brave  girl  will  be  miserable   is  a  part 

412 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

of  the  honour  I  can't  stomach  so  well.  If  he  had  been 
any  other  lord  in  the  kingdom,  we  might  have  been 
merry  indeed.  I  believe  he  will  ruin  her  happiness — 
yes,  I  do — not  by  any  personal  snubbing  or  rough 
conduct,  but  by  other  things,  causing  her  to  be 
despised  ;  and  that  is  a  thing  she  can't  endure.' 

'  She's  not  to  be  despised  without  a  deal  of  trouble 
— we  must  remember  that.  And  if  he  insults  her  by 
introducing  new  favourites,  as  they  say  he  did  his  first 
wife,  I'll  call  upon  him  and  ask  his  meaning,  and  take 
her  away.' 

'  Nonsense — we  shall  never  know  what  he  does,  or 
how  she  feels  ;  she  will  never  let  out  a  word.  How- 
ever unhappy  she  may  be,  she  will  always  deny  it — 
that's  the  unfortunate  part  of  such  marriages.' 

*  An  old  chap  like  that  ought  to  leave  young  women 
alone,  damn  him  ! ' 

The  clerk  came  nearer.  '  I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
allow  bad  words  to  be  spoke  in  this  sacred  pile,'  he 
said.  '  As  far  as  my  personal  self  goes,  I  should  have 
no  objection  to  your  cussing  as  much  as  you  like,  but 
as  a  official  of  the  church  my  conscience  won't  allow  it 
to  be  done.' 

'  Your  conscience  has  allowed  something  to  be  done 
that  cussing  and  swearing  are  godly  worship  to.' 

'  The  prettiest  maid  is  left  out  of  harness,  however,' 
said  the  clerk.  *  The  litde  witness  was  the  chicken  to 
my  taste — Lord  forgive  me  for  saying  it,  and  a  man 
wuth  a  wife  and  family  ! ' 

Sol  and  his  father  turned  to  withdraw,  and  soon 
forgot  the  remark,  but  it  was  frequently  recalled  by 
Christopher. 

*  Do  you  think  of  trying  to  see  Ethelberta  before 
you  leave  ? '  said  Sol. 

'  Certainly  not,'  said  Chickerel.  *  Mr.  Mountclere's 
advice  was  good  in  that.  The  more  we  keep  out  of 
the  way  the  more  good  we  are  doing  her.  I  shall  go 
back  to  Anglebury  by  the  carrier,  and  get  on  at  once 
to  London.     You  will  go  with  me,  I  suppose  ? ' 

413 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'The  carrier  does  not  leave  yet  for  an  hour  or  two.' 

*  I  shall  walk  on,  and  let  him  overtake  me.  If 
possible,  I  will  get  one  glimpse  of  Enckworth  Court, 
Berta's  new  home;  there  may  be  time,  if  I  start  at 
once.' 

'  I  will  walk  with  you,'  said  Sol. 

*  There  is  room  for  one  with  me,'  said  Christopher, 
*  I  shall  drive  back  early  in  the  afternoon.' 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Sol.  '  I  will  endeavour  to  meet 
you  at  Corvsgate.' 

Thus  it  was  arranged.  Chickerel  could  have 
wished  to  search  for  Picotee,  and  learn  from  her  the 
details  of  this  mysterious  matter.  But  it  was  par- 
ticularly painful  to  him  to  make  himself  busy  after  the 
event;  and  to  appear  suddenly  and  uselessly  where 
he  was  plainly  not  wanted  to  appear  would  be  an 
awkwardness  which  the  pleasure  of  seeing  either 
daughter  could  scarcely  counter-balance.  Hence  he 
had^  resolved  to  return  at  once  to  town,  and  there 
await  the  news,  together  with  the  detailed  directions 
as  to  his  own  future  movements,  carefully  considered 
and  laid  down,  which  were  sure  to  be  given  by  the 
far-seeing  Ethelberta. 

Sol  and  his  father  walked  on  together,  Chickerel 
to  meet  the  carrier  just  beyond  Enckworth,  Sol  to 
wait  for  Christopher  at  Corvsgate.  His  wish  to  see, 
in  company  with  his  father,  the  oudine  of  the  seat  to 
which  Ethelberta  had  been  advanced  that  day,  was  the 
triumph  of  youthful  curiosity  and  interest  over  dogged 
objection.  His  father's  wish  was  based  on  calmer 
reasons. 

Christopher,  lone  and  out  of  place,  remained  in  the 
church  yet  a  litde  longer.  He  desultorily  walked 
round.  Reaching  the  organ  chamber,  he  looked  at 
the  instrument,  and  was  surprised  to  find  behind  it 
a  young  man.  Julian  first  thought  him  to  be  the 
organist;  on  second  inspection,  however,  he  proved 
to  be  a  person  Christopher  had  met  before,  under 
far  different  circumstances;    it  was  our  young  friend 

414 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Ladywell,  looking  as  sick  and  sorry  as  a  lily  with  a 
slug  in  its  stalk. 

The  occasion,  the  place,  and  their  own  condition, 
made  them  kin.  Christopher  had  despised  Ladywell, 
Ladywell  had  disliked  Christopher ;  but  a  third  item 
neutralized  the  other  two — it  was  their  common  lot. 

Christopher  just  nodded,  for  they  had  only  met 
on  Ethelberta's  stairs.  Ladywell  nodded  more,  and 
spoke.  'The  church  appears  to  be  interesting,'  he 
said. 

'Yes.  Such  a  tower  is  rare  In  England,'  said 
Christopher. 

They  then  dwelt  on  other  features  of  the  building, 
thence  enlarging  to  the  village,  and  then  to  the  rocks 
and  marine  scenery — both  avoiding  the  malady  they 
suffered  from — the  marriage  of  Ethelberta. 

'  The  village  streets  are  very  picturesque,  and  the 
cliff  scenery  is  good  of  its  kind,'  rejoined  Ladywell. 
'  The  rocks  represent  the  feminine  side  of  grandeur. 
Here  they  are  white,  with  delicate  tops.  On  the  west 
coast  they  are  higher,  black,  and  with  angular  summits. 
Those  represent  grandeur  in  its  masculine  aspect.  It 
is  merely  my  own  Idea,  and  not  very  bright,  perhaps.' 

'It  is  very  Ingenious,'  said  Christopher,  'and 
perfectly  true.' 

Ladywell  was  pleased.  '  I  am  here  at  present 
making  sketches  for  my  next  subject — a  winter  sea. 
Otherwise  I  should  not  have — happened  to  be  in  the 
church.' 

'  You  are  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Petherwin — I  think 
you  are  Mr.  Ladywell,  who  painted  her  portrait  last 
season  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  said  Ladywell,  colouring. 

*  You  may  have  heard  her  speak  of  Mr.  Julian  ?  ' 
*0  yes,'  said  Ladywell,  offering  his  hand.     Then 

by  degrees  their  tongues  wound  more  closely  round 
the  subject  of  their  sadness,  each  tacitly  owning  to 
what  he  would  not  tell. 

*  I  saw  it,'  said  Ladywell  heavily. 

415 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Did  she  look  troubled  ? ' 

*  Not  in  the  least — bright  and  fresh  as  a  May 
morning.  She  has  played  me  many  a  bitter  trick,  and 
poor  Neigh  too,  a  friend  of  mine.  But  I  cannot  help 
forgiving  her.  ...  I  saw  a  carriage  at  the  door,  and 
strolled  in.  The  ceremony  was  just  proceeding,  so  I 
sat  down  here.  Well,  I  have  done  with  Knollsea. 
The  place  has  no  further  interest  for  me  now.  I  may 
own  to  you  as  a  friend,  that  if  she  had  not  been  living 
here  I  should  have  studied  at  some  other  coast — of 
course  that's  in  confidence.' 

'  I  understand,  quite.' 

'  I  arrived  in  the  neighbourhood  only  two  days  ago, 
and  did  not  set  eyes  upon  her  till  this  morning,  she  has 
kept  so  entirely  indoors.' 

Then  the  young  men  parted,  and  half  an  hour  later 
the  ingenuous  Ladywell  came  from  the  visitors'  inn  by 
the  shore,  a  man  walking  behind  him  with  a  quantity 
of  artists'  materials  and  appliances.  He  went  on  board 
the  steamer,  which  this  morning  had  performed  the 
passage  in  safety.  Ethelberta  single  having  been  the 
loadstone  in  the  cliffs  that  had  attracted  Ladywell 
hither,  Ethelberta  married  was  the  negative  pole  of 
the  same,  sending  him  away.  And  thus  did  a  woman 
put  an  end  to  the  only  opportunity  of  distinction,  on 
Art-exhibition  walls,  that  ever  offered  itself  to  the 
tortuous  ways,  quaint  alleys,  and  marbled  bluffs  of 
Knollsea,  as  accessories  in  the  picture  of  a  winter  sea. 

Christopher's  interest  in  the  village  was  of  the  same 
evaporating  nature.  He  looked  upon  the  sea,  and  the 
great  swell,  and  the  waves  sending  up  a  sound  like  the 
huzzas  of  multitudes  ;  but  all  the  wild  scene  was  irk- 
some now.  The  ocean-bound  steamers  far  away  on 
the  horizon  inspired  him  with  no  curiosity  as  to  their 
destination  ;  the  house  Ethelberta  had  occupied  was 
positively  hateful ;  and  he  turned  away  to  wait 
impatiently  for  the  hour  at  which  he  had  promised  to 
drive  on  to  meet  Sol  at  Corvsgate. 

Sol  and  Chickerel  plodded  along  the  road,  in  order 

416 


A  COiMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

to  skirt  Enckworth  before  the  carrier  came  up. 
Reaching  the  top  of  a  hill  on  their  way,  they  paused 
to  look  down  on  a  peaceful  scene.  It  was  a  park  and 
wood,  glowing  In  all  the  matchless  colours  of  late 
autumn,  parapets  and  pediments  peering  out  from  a 
central  position  afar.  At  the  bottom  of  the  descent 
before  them  was  a  lodge,  to  which  they  now  descended. 
The  gate  stood  Invitingly  open.  Excluslveness  was 
no  part  of  the  owner's  instincts  :  one  could  see  that  at 
a  glance.  No  appearance  of  a  well-rolled  garden-path 
attached  to  the  park-drive,  as  is  the  case  with  many, 
betokening  by  the  perfection  of  their  surfaces  their 
proprietor's  deficiency  in  hospitality.  The  approach 
was  like  a  turnpike  road  full  of  great  ruts,  clumsy 
mendings ;  bordered  by  trampled  edges  and  Incur- 
sions upon  the  grass  at  pleasure.  Butchers  and 
bakers  drove  as  freely  herein  as  peers  and  peeresses. 
Christening  parties,  wedding  companies,  and  funeral 
trains  passed  along  by  the  doors  of  the  mansion  with- 
out check  or  question.  A  wild  untidiness  In  this 
particular  has  its  recommendations ;  for  guarded 
grounds  ever  convey  a  suspicion  that  their  owner  is 
young  to  landed  possessions,  as  religious  earnestness 
implies  newness  of  conversion,  and  conjugal  tenderness 
recent  marriage. 

Half-an-hour  being  wanting  as  yet  to  Chickerel's 
time  with  the  carrier,  Sol  and  himself,  like  the  rest  of 
the  world  when  at  leisure,  walked  Into  the  extensive 
stretch  of  grass  and  grove.  It  formed  a  park  so  large 
that  not  one  of  its  owners  had  ever  wished  it  larger, 
not  one  of  Its  owner's  rivals  had  ever  failed  to  wish  it 
smaller,  and  not  one  of  Its  owner's  satellites  had  ever 
seen  It  without  praise.  They  somewhat  avoided  the 
roadway,  passing  under  the  huge,  misshapen,  ragged 
trees,  and  through  fern  brakes,  ruddy  and  crisp  In  their 
decay.  On  reaching  a  suitable  eminence,  the  father 
and  son  stood  still  to  look  upon  the  many-chimneyed 
building,  or  rather  conglomeration  of  buildings,  to 
which  these  groves  and  glades  formed  a  setting. 

417 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*We  will  just  give  a  glance,'  said  Chickerel,  'and 
then  go  away.  It  don't  seem  well  to  me  that  Ethel- 
berta  should  have  this  ;  it  is  too  much.  The  sudden 
change  will  do  her  no  good.  I  never  believe  in  any- 
thing that  comes  in  the  shape  of  wonderful  luck.  As 
it  comes,  so  it  goes.  Had  she  been  brought  home 
to-day  to  one  of  those  tenant-farms  instead  of  these 
woods  and  walls,  I  could  have  called  it  good  fortune. 
What  she  should  have  done  was  glorify  herself  by 
glorifying  her  own  line  of  life,  not  by  forsaking  that 
line  for  another.  Better  have  been  admired  as  a 
governess  than  shunned  as  a  peeress,  which  is  what  she 
will  be.  But  it  is  just  the  same  everywhere  in  these 
days.  Young  men  will  rather  wear  a  black  coat  and 
starve  than  wear  fustian  and  do  well.' 

'  One  man  to  want  such  a  monstrous  house  as  that ! 
Well,  'tis  a  fine  place.  See,  there's  the  carpenters' 
shops,  the  timber-yard,  and  everything,  as  if  it  were  a 
little  town.  Perhaps  Berta  may  hire  me  for  a  job  now 
and  then.' 

'  I  always  knew  she  would  cut  herself  off  from  us. 
She  marked  for  it  from  childhood,  and  she  has  finished 
the  business  thoroughly.' 

'  Well,  it  is  no  matter,  father,  for  why  should  we 
want  to  trouble  her  ?  She  may  write,  and  I  shall 
answer ;  but  if  she  calls  to  see  me,  I  shall  not  return 
the  visit ;  and  if  she  meets  me  with  her  husband  or 
any  of  her  new  society  about  her,  I  shall  behave  as 
a  stranger.' 

'It  will  be  best,'  said  Chickerel.  'W^ell,  now  I 
must  move.' 

However,  by  the  sorcery  of  accident,  before  they 
had  very  far  retraced  their  steps  an  open  carriage 
became  visible  round  a  bend  in  the  drive.  Chickerel, 
with  a  servant's  instinct,  was  for  beating  a  retreat. 

'No,'  said  Sol.  '  Let  us  stand  our  ground.  We 
have  already  been  seen,  and  we  do  no  harm.' 

So  they  stood  still  on  the  edge  of  the  drive,  and 
the  carriage  drew  near.      It  was  a  landau,  and  the  sun 

418 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

shone  In  upon  Lord  Mountclere,  with  Lady  Mountclere 
sitting  beside  him,  like  Ablshag  beside  King  David. 

Very  blithe  looked  the  viscount,  for  he  rode  upon 
a  cherub  to-day.  She  appeared  fresh,  rosy,  and 
strong,  but  dubious  ;  though  if  mien  was  anything,  she 
was  a  viscountess  twice  over.  Her  dress  was  of  a 
dove-coloured  material,  with  a  bonnet  to  match,  a 
little  tufted  white  feather  resting  on  the  top,  like  a 
truce-flag  between  the  blood  of  noble  and  vassal. 
Upon  the  cool  grey  of  her  shoulders  hung  a  few  locks 
of  hair,  toned  warm  as  fire  by  the  sunshiny  addition  to 
its  natural  hue. 

Chlckerel  Instinctively  took  off  his  hat ;  Sol  did  the 
same. 

For  only  a  moment  did  Ethelberta  seem  uncertain 
how  to  act.  But  a  solution  to  her  difficulty  was  given 
by  the  face  of  her  brother.  There  she  saw  plainly  at 
one  glance  more  than  a  dozen  speeches  would  have 
told — for  Sol's  features  thoroughly  expressed  his 
intention  that  to  him  she  was  to  be  a  strano-er.  Her 
eyes  flew  to  Chlckerel,  and  he  slightly  shook  his  head. 
She  understood  them  now.  With  a  tear  In  her  eye  for 
her  father,  and  a  sigh  in  her  bosom  for  Sol,  she  bowed 
in  answer  to  their  salute  ;  her  husband  moved  his  hat 
and  nodded,  and  the  carriage  rolled  on.  Lord  Mount- 
clere might  possibly  be  making  use  of  the  fine  morning 
in  showing  her  the  park  and  premises.  Chlckerel, 
with  a  moist  eye,  now  went  on  with  his  son  towards 
the  high-road.  When  they  reached  the  lodge,  the 
lodge-keeper  was  walking  in  the  sun,  smoking  his 
pipe.     '  Good  morning,'  he  said  to  Chlckerel. 

*  Any  rejoicings  at  the  Court  to-day  ? '  the  butler 
inquired. 

'  Quite  the  reverse.  Not  a  soul  there.  'TIsn't 
knowed  anywhere  at  all.  I  had  no  idea  of  such  a 
thing  till  he  brought  my  lady  here.  Not  going  off, 
neither.  They've  come  home  like  the  commonest 
couple  in  the  land,  and  not  even  the  bells  allowed  to 
ring.* 

419 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

They  walked  along  the  public  road,  and  the  carrier 
came  in  view. 

'  Father,'  said  Sol,  '  I  don't  think  I'll  go  further 
with  you.  She's  gone  into  the  house  ;  and  suppose 
she  should  run  back  without  him  to  try  to  find  us  ?  It 
would  be  cruel  to  disappoint  her.  I'll  bide  about  here 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  in  case  she  should.  Mr. 
Julian  won't  have  passed  Corvsgate  till  I  get  there.' 

*  Well,  one  or  two  of  her  old  ways  may  be  left  in 
her  still,  and  it  is  not  a  bad  thought.  Then  you  will 
walk  the  rest  of  the  distance  if  you  don't  meet  Mr. 
Julian  ?     I  must  be  in  London  by  the  evening.' 

*  Any  time  to-night  will  do  for  me.  I  shall  not 
beein  work  until  to-morrow^  so  that  the  four  o'clock 
train  will  answer  my  purpose. 

Thus  they  parted,  and  Sol  strolled  leisurely  back. 
The  road  was  quite  deserted,  and  he  lingered  by  the 
park  fence. 

'  Sol ! '  said  a  bird-like  voice  ;  *  how  did  you  come 
here  ? ' 

He  looked  up,  and  saw  a  figure  peering  down  upon 
him  from  the  top  of  the  park  wall,  the  ground  on  the 
inside  being  higher  than  the  road.  The  speaker  was 
to  the  expected  Ethelberta  what  the  moon  is  to  the 
sun,  a  star  to  the  moon.      It  was  Picotee. 

'  Hullo,  Picotee!'  said  Sol. 

'  There's  a  little  gate  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further  on, 
said  Picotee.  *  We  can  meet  there  without  your 
passing  through  the  big  lodge.  I'll  be  there  as  soon 
as  you.' 

Sol  ascended  the  hill,  passed  through  the  second 
gate,  and  turned  back  again,  when  he  met  Picotee 
coming  forward  under  the  trees.  They  walked  to- 
gether in  this  secluded  spot. 

'  Berta  says  she  wants  to  see  you  and  father,'  said 
Picotee  breathlessly.      '  You  must  come  in  and  make 
yourselves   comfortable.     She   had   no  idea  you  were 
here  so  secretly,  and  she  didn't  know  what  to  do.' 
Father's  gone,'  said  Sol. 

420 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  How  vexed  she  will  be !  She  thinks  there  Is 
something  the  matter — that  you  are  angry  with  her 
for  not  telling  you  earlier.  But  you  will  come  in, 
Sol?' 

*  No,  I  can't  come  in,'  said  her  brother. 

'  Why  not  ?  It  is  such  a  big  house,  you  can't  think. 
You  need  not  come  near  the  front  apartments,  if  you 
think  we  shall  be  ashamed  of  you  in  your  working 
clothes.  How  came  you  not  to  dress  up  a  bit,  Sol  ? 
Still,  Berta  won't  mind  it  much.  She  says  Lord 
Mountclere  must  take  her  as  she  is,  or  he  is  kindly 
welcome  to  leave  her.' 

*  Ah,  well !  I  might  have  had  a  word  or  two  to  say 
about  that,  but  the  time  has  gone  by  for  it,  worse  luck. 
Perhaps  it  is  best  that  I  have  said  nothing,  and  she 
has  had  her  way.  No,  I  shan't  come  in,  Picotee. 
Father  is  gone,  and  I  am  going  too.' 

'  O  Sol ! ' 

*We  are  rather  put  out  at  her  acting  like  this — 
father  and  I  and  all  of  us.  She  might  have  let  us 
know  about  it  beforehand,  even  if  she  is  a  lady  and 
we  what  we  always  was.  It  wouldn't  have  let  her 
down  so  terrible  much  to  write  a  line.  She  miofht 
have  learnt  something  that  would  have  led  her  to  take 
a  different  step.' 

*  But  you  will  see  poor  Berta  ?  She  has  done  no 
harm.  She  was  going  to  write  long  letters  to  all  of 
you  to-day,  explaining  her  wedding,  and  how  she  is 
going  to  help  us  all  on  in  the  world.' 

Sol  paused  Irresolutely.  '  No,  I  won't  come  in,'  he 
said.  '  It  would  dlso^race  her,  for  one  thingf.  dressed 
as  I  be  ;  more  than  that,  I  don't  want  to  come  in. 
But  I  should  like  to  see  her,  if  she  would  like  to  see 
me  ;  and  I'll  go  up  there  to  that  little  fir  plantation, 
and  walk  up  and  down  behind  it  for  exactly  half-an- 
hour.  She  can  come  out  to  me  there.'  Sol  had 
pointed  as  he  spoke  to  a  knot  of  young  trees  that 
hooded  a  knoll  a  little  wav  off 

*  I'll  go  and  tell  her,'  said  Picotee. 

421 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

•  I  suppose  they  will  be  off  somewhere,  and  she  is 
busy  getting  ready  ? ' 

*  O  no.  They  are  not  going  to  travel  till  next 
year.  Ethelberta  does  not  want  to  go  anywhere  ;  and 
Lord  Mountclere  cannot  endure  this  chaneeable 
weather  in  any  place  but  his  own  house.' 

'  Poor  fellow  ! ' 

'Then  you  will  wait  for  her  by  the  firs?  I'll  tell 
her  at  once.' 

Picotee  left  him,  and  Sol  went  across  the  glade. 


ENCKWORTH  {continued) 
THE  ANGLEBUR  Y  HIGHWA  Y 

XLVI 

He  had  not  paced  behind  the  firs  more  than  ten 
minutes  when  Ethelberta  appeared  from  the  opposite 
side.  At  great  inconvenience  to  herself  she  had 
complied  with  his  request. 

Ethelberta  was  tremblinof.  She  took  her  brother's 
hand,  and  said,  '  Is  father,  then,  gone } ' 

'Yes,'  said  Sol.  'I  should  have  been  gone  like- 
wise, but  I  thought  vou  wanted  to  see  me.' 

*  Of  course  I  did,  and  him  too.  Why  did  you 
come  so  mysteriously,  and,  I  must  say,  unbecomingly  ? 
1  am  afraid  I  did  wrong  in  not  informing  you  of  my 
intention.' 

'  To  yourself  you  may  have.  Father  would  have 
liked  a  word  with  you  before — you  did  it.* 

'  You  both  looked  so  forbidding^  that  I  did  not  like 
to  Stop  the  carriage  when  we  passed  you.  I  want  to 
see  him  on  an  important  matter — his  leaving  Mrs. 
Doncastle's  service  at  once.  I  am  going  to  write  and 
beg  her  to  dispense  with  a  notice,  which  I  have  no 
doubt  she  will  do.' 

'  He's  very  much  upset  about  you.* 

'  My  secrecy  was  perhaps  an  error  of  judgment,' 
she  said  sadly.  *  But  I  had  reasons.  WTiy  did  you 
and  my  father  come  here  at  all  if  you  did  not  want  to 
see  me  ? ' 

423 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'  We  did  want  to  see  you  up  to  a  certain  time.* 
'  You  did  not  come  to  prevent  my  marriage  ? ' 
'We   wished   to   see   you   before   the   marriage — I 
can't  say  more.' 

*  I  thought  you  might  not  approve  of  what  I  had 
done,'  said  Ethelberta  mournfully.  *  But  a  time  may 
come  when  you  will  approve.' 

'  Never.'' 

*  Don't  be  harsh,  Sol.  A  coronet  covers  a  multitude 
of  sins.' 

'  A  coronet :  good  Lord — and  you  my  sister ! 
Look  at  my  hand.'  Sol  extended  his  hand.  '  Look 
how  my  thumb  stands  out  at  the  root,  as  if  it 
were  out  of  joint,  and  that  hard  place  inside  there. 
Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  ugly  as  that  hand — a 
misshaped  monster,  isn't  he  ?  That  comes  from  the 
jack-plane,  and  my  pushing  against  it  day  after  day 
and  year  after  year.  If  I  were  found  drowned  or 
buried,  dressed  or  undressed,  in  fustian  or  in  broad- 
cloth, folk  would  look  at  my  hand  and  say,  "  That 
man's  a  carpenter."  Well  now,  how  can  a  man, 
branded  with  work  as  I  be,  be  brother  to  a  viscountess 
without  something^  beinor  wronof.'*  Of  course  there's 
something  wrong  in  it,  or  he  wouldn't  hav'e  married 
you — something  which  won't  be  righted  without  terrible 
sufferinor,' 

o  

'  No,  no,'  said  she.  'You  are  mistaken.  There  is 
no  such  wonderful  quality  in  a  title  in  these  days. 
What  I  really  am  is  second  wife  to  a  quiet  old  country 
nobleman,  who  has  given  up  society.  What  more 
commonplace  ?  My  life  will  be  as  simple,  even  more 
simple,  than  it  was  before.' 

'  Berta,  you  have  worked  to  false  lines.  A  creep- 
ing up  among  the  useless  lumber  of  our  nation  that'll 
be  the  first  to  burn  if  there  comes  a  flare.  I  never  see 
such  a  deserter  of  your  own  lot  as  you  be !  But  you 
were  always  like  it,  Berta,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  'ee. 
More  than  that,  a  good  woman  never  marries  twice.' 

'You  are  too  hard,  Sol,'  said  the  poor  viscountess, 

424 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

almost  crying.  'I've  done  it  all  for  you !  Even  if  I 
have  made  a  mistake,  and  given  my  ambition  an 
ignoble  turn,  don't  tell  me  so  now,  or  you  may  do 
more  harm  in  a  minute  than  you  will  cure  in  a  lifetime. 
It  is  absurd  to  let  republican  passions  so  blind  you  to 
fact.  A  familv  which  can  be  honourablv  traced  throuofh 
historv  for  five  hundred  vears  does  affect  the  heart  of  a 
person  not  entirely  hardened  against  romance.  Whether 
you  like  the  peerage  or  no,  they  appeal  to  our  historical 
sense  and  love  of  old  associations.' 

'  I  don't  care  for  history.  Prophecy  is  the  only 
thing  can  do  poor  men  any  good.  When  you  wxre  a 
girl,  you  wouldn't  drop  a  curtsey  to  'em,  historical  or 
otherwise,  and  there  you  were  right.  But,  instead  of 
sticking  to  such  principles,  you  must  needs  push  up,  so 
as  to  get  girls  such  as  you  were  once  to  curtsey  to  you, 
not  even  thinking  marriage  with  a  bad  man  too  great 
a  price  to  pay  for't.' 

*  A  bad  man  .^  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? 
Lord  Mountclere  is  rather  old,  but  he's  worthy. 
What  did  you  mean,  Sol  "^ ' 

'  Nothing — a  mere  sommat  to  say.' 

At  that  moment  Picotee  emerged  from  behind   a 

o 

tree,  and  told  her  sister  that  Lord  Mountclere  was 
looking  for  her. 

'Well,  Sol,  I  cannot  explain  all  to  you  now,'  she 
said.  *  I  will  send  for  you  in  London.'  She  wished 
him  good-bye,  and  they  separated,  Picotee  accompany- 
ing Sol  a  little  on  his  way. 

Ethelberta  was  greatly  perturbed  by  this  meeting. 
After  retracing  her  steps  a  short  distance,  she  still  felt 
so  distressed  and  unpresentable  that  she  resolved  not 
to  allow  Lord  Mountclere  to  see  her  till  the  clouds 
had  somewhat  passed  off;  it  was  but  a  bare  act  of 
justice  to  him  to  hide  from  his  sight  such  a  bridal 
mood  as  this.  It  was  better  to  keep  him  waiting  than 
to  make  him  positively  unhappy.  She  turned  aside, 
and  went  up  the  valley,  where  the  park  merged  in 
miles  of  wood  and  copse. 

425 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

She  opened  an  iron  gate  and  entered  the  wood, 
casually  Interested  in  the  vast  variety  of  colours  that 
the  half-fallen  leaves  of  the  season  wore  :  more,  much 
more,  occupied  with  personal  thought.  The  path  she 
pursued  became  gradually  involved  in  bushes  as  well 
as  trees,  giving  to  the  spot  the  character  rather  of  a 
coppice  than  a  wood.  Perceiving  that  she  had  gone 
far  enough,  Ethelberta  turned  back  by  a  path  which 
at  this  point  intersected  that  by  which  she  had 
approached,  and  promised  a  more  direct  return  towards 
the  Court.  She  had  not  gone  many  steps  among  the 
hazels,  which  here  formed  a  perfect  thicket,  when  she 
observed  a  belt  of  holly-bushes  in  their  midst ;  towards 
the  outskirts  of  these  an  opening  on  her  left  hand 
directly  led,  thence  winding  round  into  a  clear  space  of 
greensward,  which  they  completely  enclosed.  On 
this  isolated  and  mewed-up  bit  of  lawn  stood  a 
timber-built  cottage,  having  ornamental  barge-boards, 
balconettes,  and  porch.  It  was  an  erection  interesting 
enough  as  an  experiment,  and  grand  as  a  toy,  but  as  a 
building  contemptible. 

A  blue  gauze  of  smoke  floated  over  the  chimney, 
as  if  somebody  was  living  there  ;  round  towards  the 
side  some  empty  hen-coops  were  piled  away  ;  while 
under  the  hollies  were  divers  frameworks  of  wire 
netting  and  sticks,  showing  that  birds  were  kept  here 
at  some  seasons  of  the  year. 

Being  lady  of  all  she  surveyed,  Ethelberta  crossed 
the  leafy  sward,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  She  was 
interested  in  knowing  the  purpose  of  the  peculiar  little 
edifice. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  woman  wearing  a  clean 
apron  upon  a  not  very  clean  gown.  Ethelberta  asked 
who  lived  in  so  pretty  a  place. 

'  Miss  Gruchette,'  the  servant  replied.  '  But  she  is 
not  here  now.' 

*  Does  she  live  here  alone  ?  * 

*  Yes — excepting  myself  and  a  fellow-servant 
'Oh; 

426 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'  She  lives  here  to  attend  to  the  pheasants  and 
poultry,  because  she  is  so  clever  in  managing  them. 
They  are  brought  here  from  the  keeper's  over  the  hill. 
Her  father  was  a  fancier.' 

'  Miss  Gruchette  attends  to  the  birds,  and  two 
servants  attend  to  Miss  Gruchette?' 

'Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  m'm,  the  servants  do 
almost  all  of  it.  Still,  that's  what  Miss  Gruchette  is 
here  for.  Would  you  like  to  see  the  house  .-^  It  is 
pretty.'  The  woman  spoke  with  hesitation,  as  if  in 
doubt  between  the  desire  of  earning  a  shilling  and  the 
fear  that  Ethelberta  was  not  a  stranger.  That 
Ethelberta  was  Lady  Mountclere  she  plainly  did  not 
dream. 

'  I  fear  I  can  scarcely  stay  long  enough  ;  yet  I  will 
just  look  in,*  said  Ethelberta.  And  as  soon  as  they 
had  crossed  the  threshold  she  was  glad  of  having 
done  so. 

The  cottage  internally  may  be  described  as  a  sort 
of  boudoir  extracted  from  the  bulk  of  a  mansion  and 
deposited  in  a  wood.  The  front  room  w^as  filled  with 
nicknacks,  curious  work-tables,  filigree  baskets,  tw^isted 
brackets  supporting  statuettes,  in  which  the  grotesque 
in  every  case  ruled  the  design ;  love-birds,  in  gilt 
cages  ;  French  bronzes,  w^onderful  boxes,  needlework 
of  strange  patterns,  and  other  attractive  objects.  The 
apartment  was  one  of  those  which  seem  to  laugh  in  a 
visitor's  face  and  on  closer  examination  express  frivolity 
more  distinctly  than  by  words. 

Miss  Gruchette  is  here  to  keep  the  fowls?*  said 
Ethelberta,  in  a  puzzled  tone,  after  a  survey. 

*  Yes.      But  they  don't  keep  her.' 

Ethelberta  did  not  attempt  to  understand,  and 
ceased  to  occupy  her  mind  with  the  matter.  They 
came  from  the  cottage  to  the  door,  where  she  gave 
the  woman  a  triflinor  sum,  and  turned  to  leave.  But 
footsteps  were  at  that  moment  to  be  heard  beating 
among  the  leaves  on  the  other  side  of  the  hollies,  and 
Ethelberta  waited  till  the  walkers  should  have  passed. 

427 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

The  voices  of  two  men  reached  herself  and  the  woman 
as  they  stood.  They  were  close  to  the  house,  yet 
screened  from  it  by  the  holly-bushes,  when  one  could 
be  heard  to  say  distinctly,  as  if  with  his  face  turned  to 
the  cottao^e — 

*  Lady  Mountclere  gone  for  good  ?  * 

*  I  suppose  so.     Ha-ha!     So  come,  so  go.* 

The  speakers  passed  on,  their  backs  becoming 
visible  through  the  opening.  They  appeared  to  be 
woodmen. 

'  What  Lady  Mountclere  do  they  mean  ? '  said 
Ethelberta. 

The  woman  blushed.    '  They  meant  Miss  Gruchette.' 

'  Oh — a  nickname.' 

'Yes.' 

'Why?' 

The  woman  whispered  why  in  a  story  of  about  two 
minutes'  length.      Ethelberta  turned  pale. 

*  Is  she  going  to  return.^'  she  inquired,  in  a  thin 
hard  voice. 

'Yes  ;  next  week.     You  know  her,  m'm?' 

'  No.      I  am  a  strans^er.' 

'  So  much  the  better.  I  may  tell  you,  then,  that 
an  old  tale  is  flying  about  the  neighbourhood — that 
Lord  Mountclere  was  privately  married  to  another 
woman,  at  Knollsea,  this  morning  early.  Can  it  be 
true  ? ' 

'  I  believe  it  to  be  true.' 

*  xA-nd  that  she  is  of  no  familv  ?  * 
'Of  no  familv.' 

'  Indeed.  Then  the  Lord  only  knows  what  will 
become  of  the  poor  thing !  There  will  be  murder 
between  'em.' 

'  Between  whom  ? ' 

*  Her  and  the  ladv  who  lives  here.  She  won't 
budge  an  inch — not  she  ! ' 

Ethelberta  moved  aside.  A  shade  seemed  to  over- 
spread the  world,  the  sky,  the  trees,  and  the  objects  in 
the    foreground.     She  kept   her    face  away  from    the 

428 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

woman,  and,  whispering  a  reply  to  her  Good -morning, 
passed  through  the  hollies  into  the  leaf-strewn  path. 
As  soon  as  she  came  to  a  large  trunk  she  placed  her 
hands  against  it  and  rested  her  face  upon  them.  She 
drew  herself  lower  down,  lower,  lower,  till  she  crouched 
upon  the  leaves.  '  Ay  —  'tis  what  father  and  Sol 
m.eant !     O  Heaven  ! '  she  whispered. 

She  soon  arose,  and  went  on  her  way  to  the  house. 
Her  fair  features  were  lirmlv  set,  and  she  scarcelv 
heeded  the  path  in  the  concentration  which  had  followed 
her  paroxysm.  When  she  reached  the  park  proper 
she  became  aware  of  an  excitement  that  was  in 
progress  there. 

Ethelberta's  absence  had  become  unaccountable  to 
Lord  Mountclere,  who  could  hardly  permit  her  retire- 
ment from  his  sight  for  a  minute.  But  at  first  he  had 
made  due  allowance  for  her  eccentricitv  as  a  woman  of 
genius,  and  would  not  take  notice  of  the  half-hour's 
desertion,  unpardonable  as  it  might  have  been  in  other 
classes  of  wives.  Then  he  had  inquired,  searched, 
been  alarmed  :  he  had  finally  sent  men-servants  in  all 
directions  about  the  park  to  look  for  her.  He  feared 
she  had  fallen  out  of  a  window,  down  a  well,  or  into 
the  lake.  The  next  sta!2:-e  of  search  was  to  have  been 
drags  and  grapnels  :  but  Ethelberta  entered  the  house. 

Lord  Mountclere  rushed  forward  to  meet  her,  and 
such  was  her  contrivance  that  he  noticed  no  chanore. 
The  searchers  were  called  in,  Ethelberta  explaining 
that  she  had  merely  obeyed  the  wish  of  her  brother  in 
going  out  to  meet  him.  Picotee,  who  had  returned 
from  her  walk  with  Sol,  was  upstairs  in  one  of  the 
rooms  which  had  been  allotted  to  her.  Ethelberta 
managed  to  run  in  there  on  her  way  upstairs  to  her 
own  chamber. 

*  Picotee,  put  your  things  on  again,'  she  said.  'You 
are  the  only  friend  I  have  in  this  house,  and  I  want 
one  badly.  Go  to  Sol,  and  deliver  this  message  to 
him — that  I  want  to  see  him  at  once.  You  must  over- 
take him,  if  you  walk  all  the  way  to  Anglebury.     But 

429 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

the  train  does  not  leave  till  four,  so  that  there  is  plenty 
of  time.' 

*  What  is  the  matter  ?  *  said  Picotee.  *  I  cannot 
walk  all  the  way.' 

*  I  don't  think  you  will  have  to  do  that — I  hope 
not.' 

'  He  is  going  to  stop  at  Corvsgate  to  have  a  bit  of 
lunch  •   I  might  overtake  him  there,  if  I  must ! ' 

'  Yes.  And  tell  him  to  come  to  the  east  passage 
door.  It  is  that  door  next  to  the  entrance  to  the 
stable-yard.  There  is  a  little  yew-tree  outside  it.  On 
second  thoughts  you,  dear,  must  not  come  back.  Wait 
at  Corvsgate  in  the  little  inn  parlour  till  Sol  comes  to 
you  again.  You  will  probably  then  have  to  go  home 
to  London  alone  ;  but  do  not  mind  it.  The  worst  part 
for  you  will  be  in  going  from  the  station  to  the 
Crescent ;  but  nobody  will  molest  you  in  a  four-wheel 
cab  :  you  have  done  it  before.  However,  he  will  tell 
you  if  this  is  necessary  when  he  gets  back.  I  can  best 
fight  my  battles  alone.  You  shall  have  a  letter  from 
me  the  day  after  to-morrow,  stating  where  I  am.  I 
shall  not  be  here.' 

'  But  what  is  it  so  dreadful  ? ' 

*  Nothing  to  frighten  you.'  But  she  spoke  with 
a  breathlessness  that  completely  nullified  the  assurance. 
'  It  is  merely  that  I  find  I  must  come  to  an  explanation 
with  Lord  Mountclere  before  I  can  live  here  per- 
manently, and  I  cannot  stipulate  with  him  while  I  am 
here  in  his  power.  Till  I  write,  good-bye.  Your 
things  are  not  unpacked,  so  let  them  remain  here  for 
the  present — they  can  be  sent  for.' 

Poor  Picotee,  more  agitated  than  her  sister,  but 
never  questioning  her  orders,  went  downstairs  and  out 
of  the  house.  She  ran  across  the  shrubberies,  into  the 
park,  and  to  the  gate  whereat  Sol  had  emerged  some 
half-hour  earlier.  She  trotted  along  upon  the  turnpike 
road  like  a  lost  doe,  crying  as  she  went  at  the  new 
trouble  which  had  come  upon  Berta,  whatever  that 
trouble  might  be.      Behind  her  she  heard  wheels  and 

430 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

the  stepping  of  a  horse,  but  she  was  too  concerned  to 
turn  her  head.  The  pace  of  the  vehicle  slackened, 
however,  when  it  was  abreast  of  Picotee,  and  she 
looked  up  to  see  Christopher  as  the  driver. 

*  Miss  Chlckerel ! '  he  said,  with  surprise. 

Picotee  had  quickly  looked  down  again,  and  she 
murmured,  '  Yes.' 

Christopher  asked  w^hat  he  could  not  help  asking 
in  the  circumstances,  '  Would  you  like  to  ride  ? ' 

*  I  should  be  glad,'  said  she,  overcoming  her  flurry. 
*  I  am  anxious  to  overtake  my  brother  Sol.' 

*  I  have  arranged  to  pick  him  up  at  Corvsgate,' 
said  Christopher. 

He  descended,  and  assisted  her  to  mount  beside 
him,  and  drove  on  again,  almost  In  silence.  He  was 
inclined  to  believe  that  some  supernatural  legerdemain 
had  to  do  with  these  periodic  Impacts  of  Picotee  on 
his  path.  She  sat  mute  and  melancholy  till  they  were 
within  half  a  mile  of  Corvsgate. 

'Thank  you,'  she  said  then,  perceiving  Sol  upon 
the  road,  'there  is  my  brother;   I  will  get  down  now.' 

'  He  was  going  to  ride  on  to  Anglebury  with  me,' 
said  Julian. 

Picotee  did  not  reply,  and  Sol  turned  round. 
Seeing  her  he  Instantly  exclaimed,  '  What's  the  matter, 
Picotee  ? ' 

She  explained  to  him  that  he  was  to  go  back 
immediately,  and  meet  her  sister  at  the  door  by  the 
yew^  as  Ethelberta  had  charged  her.  Christopher, 
knowing  them  so  well,  was  too  much  an  interested 
member  of  the  group  to  be  left  out  of  confidence,  and 
she  included  him  in  her  audience. 

*  And  what  are  you  to  do  ? '  said  Sol  to  her. 

*  I  am  to  wait  at  Corvsgate  till  you  come  to  me.* 

'  I  can't  understand  it,'  Sol  muttered,  with  a  gloomy 
face.  '  There's  something  wrong  ;  and  it  was  only  to 
be  expected  ;  that's  what  I  say,  Mr.  Julian.' 

*  If  necessary  I  can  take  care  of  Miss  Chickerel  till 
you  come,'  said  Christopher. 

431 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Thank  you,'  said  Sol.  'Then  I  will  return  to  you 
as  soon  as  I  can,  at  the  "Castle"  Inn,  just  ahead. 
'Tis  very  awkward  for  you  to  be  so  burdened  by  us, 
Mr.  Julian  ;  but  we  are  in  a  trouble  that  I  don't  yet 
see  the  bottom  of.' 

*I  know,'  said  Christopher  kindly.  'We  will  wait 
for  you.' 

He  then  droye  on  with  Picotee  to  the  inn,  which 
was  not  far  off,  and  Sol  returned  again  to  E  nek  worth. 
Feelinor  somewhat  like  a  thief  in  the  nio-ht,  he  zio-- 
zagged  through  the  park,  behind  belts  and  knots 
of  trees,  until  he  saw  the  yew,  dark  and  clear,  as 
if  drawn  in  ink  upon  the  fair  face  of  the  mansion. 
The  way  up  to  it  was  in  a  little  cutting  between  shrubs, 
the  door  being  a  priyate  entrance,  sunk  below  the 
surface  of  the  lawn,  and  inyisible  from  other  parts  of 
the  same  front.  As  soon  as  he  reached  it,  Ethelberta 
opened  it  at  once,  as  if  she  had  listened  for  his  foot- 
steps. 

She  took  him  along  a  passage  in  the  basement,  up 
a  flight  of  steps,  and  into  a  huge,  solitary,  chill  apart- 
ment. It  was  the  ball  -  room.  Spacious  mirrors  in 
gilt  framies  formed  panels  in  the  lower  part  of  the  walls, 
the  remainder    beinor    toned    in  sao-e-p-reen.      In  each 

1  •  o        o 

recess  between  the  mirrors  was  a  statue.  The  ceilings 
rose  m  a  segmental  curve,  and  bore  sprawling  upon 
its  face  gilt  figures  of  wanton  goddesses,  cupids,  satyrs 
with  tambourines,  drums,  and  trumpets,  the  whole 
ceiling  seeming  aliye  with  them.  But  the  room  was 
yery  gloomy  now,  there  being  litde  light  admitted  from 
without,  and  the  reflections  from  the  mirrors  gaye  a 
depressing  coldness  to  the  scene.  It  w^as  a  place 
intended  to  look  joyous  by  ni^^ht,  and  whatever  it 
chose  to  look  by  day. 

'We  are  safe  here,'  said  she.  '  But  we  must  listen 
for  footsteps.  I  have  only  five  mainutes  :  Lord  Mount- 
clere  is  waiting  for  me.  I  mean  to  leave  this  place, 
come  what  may.' 

'  Why  } '  said  Sol,  in  astonishment. 

432 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  I  cannot  tell  you — something  has  occurred,  which 
makes  it  necessary  that  I  should  establish  clearly 
that  I  am  going  to  be  mistress  here,  or  I  don't 
live  with  Lord  Mountclere  as  his  wife  at  all.  Sol, 
listen,  and  do  exactly  what  I  say.  Go  to  Anglebury, 
hire  a  brougham,  bring  it  on  as  far  as  Little  Enck- 
worth  :  you  will  have  to  meet  me  with  it  at  one 
of  the  park  gates  later  in  the  evening — probably  the 
west,  at  half-past  seven.  Leave  it  at  the  village, 
come  on  here  on  foot,  and  stay  under  the  trees  till 
just  before  six  :  it  will  then  be  quite  dark,  and  you 
must  stand  under  the  projecting  balustrade  a  little 
further  on  than  the  door  you  came  in  by.  I  will  just 
step  upon  the  balcony  over  it,  and  tell  you  more  exactly 
than  I  can  now  the  precise  time  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
slip  out,  and  where  the  carriage  is  to  be  waiting.  But 
it  may  not  be  safe  to  speak  on  account  of  his  closeness 
to  me — I  will  hand  down  a  note.  I  find  it  is  impossible 
to  leave  the  house  by  daylight — I  am  certain  to  be 
pursued  —  he  already  suspects  something.  Now  I 
must  be  going,  or  he  will  be  here,  for  he  watches  my 
movements  because  of  some  accidental  words  that 
escaped  me.' 

*  Berta,  I  shan't  have  anything  to  do  with  this,* 
said  Sol.      *  It  is  not  riorht ! ' 

*  I  am  only  going  to  Rouen,  to  Aunt  Charlotte !  * 
she  implored.  '  I  want  to  get  to  Southampton,  to  be 
in  time  for  the  mldnlo^ht  steamer.  When  I  am  at 
Rouen  I  can  negotiate  with  Lord  Mountclere  the  terms 
on  which  I  will  return  to  him.  It  Is  the  only  chance  I 
have  of  rooting  out  a  scandal  and  a  disgrace  which 
threatens  the  beginning  of  my  life  here !  My  letters 
to  him,  and  his  to  me,  can  be  forwarded  through  you 
or  through  father,  and  he  will  not  know  where  I  am. 
Any  woman  is  justified  in  adopting  such  a  course  to 
bring  her  husband  to  a  sense  of  her  dignity.  If  I  don't 
go  away  now,  it  will  end  in  a  permanent  separation. 
If  I  leave  at  once,  and  stipulate  that  he  gets  rid  of  her, 
we  may  be  reconciled.' 

433 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  I  can't  help  you  :  you  must  stick  to  your  husband. 
I  don't  like  them,  or  any  of  their  sort,  barring  about 
three  or  four,  for  the  reason  that  they  despise  me  and 
all  my  sort.  But,  Ethelberta,  for  all  that  I'll  play  fair 
with  them.  No  half-and-half  trimming  business. 
You  have  joined  'em,  and  'rayed  yourself  against  us  ; 
and  there  you'd  better  bide.  You  have  married  your 
man,  and  your  duty  is  towards  him.  I  know  what  he 
is,  and  so  does  father  ;  but  if  I  were  to  help  you  to  run 
away  now,  I  should  scorn  myself  more  than  I  scorn 
him.' 

'  I  don't  care  for  that,  or  for  any  such  politics ! 
The  Mountclere  line  is  noble,  and  how  was  I  to  know 
that  this  member  was  not  noble,  too  ?  As  the  repre- 
sentative of  an  illustrious  family  I  was  taken  with  him, 
but  as  a  man — I  must  shun  him  till  I've  tackled  him.' 

'  How  can  you  shun  him  ?     You  have  married  him!' 

*  Nevertheless,  I  won't  stay !  Neither  law  nor 
gospel  demands  it  of  me  after  what  I  have  learnt. 
And  if  law  and  gospel  did  demand  it,  I  would  not  stay. 
And  if  you  will  not  help  me  to  escape,  I  go  alone.' 

'You  had  better  not  try  any  such  wild  thing.' 
The  creaking  of  a  door  was  heard.  '  O  Sol,'  she 
said  appealingly,  '  don't  go  into  the  question  whether  I 
am  right  or  wrong — only  remember  that  I  am  very 
unhappy.  Do  help  me — I  have  no  other  person  in 
the  world  to  ask !  Be  under  the  balcony  at  six  o'clock. 
Say  you  will — I  must  go — say  you  will ! ' 

*  I'll  think,'  said  Sol,  very  much  disturbed.  '  There, 
don't  cry  ;  I'll  try  to  be  under  the  balcony,  at  any  rate. 
I  cannot  promise  more,  but  I'll  try  to  be  there.' 

She  opened  in  the  panelling  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
concealed  modes  of  exit  known  as  jib-doors,  which  it 
was  once  the  custom  to  construct  without  architraves 
in  the  walls  of  large  apartments,  so  as  not  to  interfere 
with  the  general  design  of  the  room.  Sol  found  him- 
self  in  a  narrow  passage,  running  down  the  whole 
length  of  the  ball-room,  and  at  the  same  time  he  heard 
Lord  Mountclere's  voice  within,  talking  to  Ethelberta. 

434 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

Sol's  escape  had  been  adroit :  as  it  was  the  viscount 
might  have  seen  her  anxiety.  He  passed  down  some 
steps,  along  an  area  from  which  he  could  see  into  a 
row  of  servants'  offices,  among  them  a  kitchen  with 
a  fireplace  flaming  like  an  altar  of  sacrifice.  Nobody- 
seemed  to  be  concerned  about  him  ;  there  were  work- 
men upon  the  premises,  and  he  nearly  matched  them. 
At  last  he  got  again  into  the  shrubberies  and  to  the 
side  of  the  park  by  which  he  had  entered. 

On  reaching  Corvsgate  he  found  Picotee  in  the 
parlour  of  the  little  inn,  as  he  had  directed.  Mr. 
Julian,  she  said,  had  walked  up  to  the  ruins,  and  would 
be  back  again  in  a  few  minutes.  Sol  ordered  the 
horse  to  be  put  in,  and  by  the  time  it  was  ready  Chris- 
topher came  down  from  the  hill.  Room  was  made  for 
Sol  by  opening  the  flap  of  the  dogcart,  and  Christopher 
drove  on. 

He  was  anxious  to  know  the  trouble,  and  Sol  was 
not  reluctant  to  share  the  burden  of  it  with  one  whom 
he  believed  to  be  a  friend.  He  told,  scrap  by  scrap, 
the  strange  request  of  Ethelberta.  Christopher, 
though  ignorant  of  Ethelberta's  experience  that  morn- 
ing, instantly  assumed  that  the  discovery  of  some  con- 
cealed spectre  had  led  to  this  precipitancy. 

'When  does  she  wish  you  to  meet  her  with  the 
carriage  ? ' 

'  Probably  at  half-past  seven,  at  the  west  lodge  ; 
but  that  is  to  be  finally  fixed  by  a  note  she  will  hand 
down  to  me  from  the  balcony.' 

'  Which  balcony  ? ' 

'  The  nearest  to  the  yew-tree.* 

*  At  what  time  will  she  hand  the  note  ? ' 

'  As  the  Court  clock  strikes  six,  she  says.  And  if 
I  am  not  there  to  take  her  instructions  of  course  she 
will  give  up  the  idea,  which  is  just  what  I  want  her  to 
do.' 

Christopher  begged  Sol  to  go.  Whether  Ethel- 
berta was  right  or  wrong,  he  did  not  stop  to  inquire. 
She  was  in  trouble  ;  she  was  too  clear-headed  to  be  in 

435 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

trouble  without  good  reason  ;  and  she  wanted  assist- 
ance out  of  it.  But  such  was  Sol's  nature  that  the 
more  he  reflected  the  more  determined  was  he  in  not 
giving  way  to  her  entreaty.  By  the  time  that  they 
reached  Anglebury  he  repented  having  given  way  so 
far  as  to  withhold  a  direct  refusal. 

*  It  can  do  no  good,'  he  said  mournfully.  *  It  is 
better  to  nip  her  notion  in  its  beginning.  She  says 
she  wants  to  fly  to  Rouen,  and  from  there  arrange 
terms  with  him.  But  it  can't  be  done — she  should 
have  thought  of  terms  before.' 

Christopher  made  no  further  reply.  Leaving  word 
at  the  *  Red  Lion  *  that  a  man  was  to  be  sent  to  take 
the  horse  of  him,  he  drove  directly  onwards  to  the 
station. 

'  Then  you  don't  mean  to  help  her  ? '  said  Julian, 
when  Sol  took  the  tickets — one  for  himself  and  one 
for  Picotee. 

*  I  serve  her  best  by  leaving  her  alone ! '  said  Sol. 

*  I  don't  think  so.' 

'  She  has  married  him.* 

'  She  is  in  distress.' 

'  She  has  married  him.* 

Sol  and  Picotee  took  their  seats,  Picotee  upbraid- 
ing her  brother.  'I  can  go  by  myself!'  she  said,  in 
tears.  *  Do  go  back  for  Berta,  Sol.  She  said  I  was 
to  go  home  alone,  and  I  can  do  it ! ' 

'  You  must  not.  It  is  not  right  for  you  to  be  hiring 
cabs  and  driving  across  London  at  midnight.  Berta 
should  have  known  better  than  propose  it' 

'  She  was  flurried.     Go,  Sol ! ' 

But  her  entreaty  was  fruitless. 

'  Have  you  got  your  ticket,  Mr.  Julian  ?'  said  Sol. 
*  I  suppose  we  shall  go  together  till  we  get  near  Mel- 
chester  ? ' 

'  I  have  not  got  my  ticket  yet — I'll  be  back  in  two 
minutes.* 

The  minutes  went  by,  and  Christopher  did  not 
reappear.       The    train    moved   off:    Christopher  was 

436 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

seen  running  up  the  platform,  as  if  in  a  vain  hope  to 
catch  it. 

'  He  has  missed  the  train/  said  Sol.  Picotee 
looked  disappointed,  and  said  nothing.  They  were 
soon  out  of  sight. 

*  God  forgive  me  for  such  a  hollow  pretence ! '  said 
Christopher  to  himself  '  But  he  would  have  been 
uneasy  had  he  known  I  wished  to  stay  behind.  I 
cannot  leave  her  in  trouble  like  this ! ' 

He  went  back  to  the  '  Red  Lion'  with  the  manner 
and  movement  of  a  man  who  after  a  lifetime  of 
desultoriness  had  at  last  found  something  to  do.  It 
was  now  getting  late  in  the  afternoon.  Christopher 
ordered  a  one-horse  brougham  at  the  inn,  and  entering 
it  was  driven  out  of  the  town  towards  E  nek  worth  as 
the  evening  shades  were  beginning  to  fall.  They 
passed  into  the  hamlet  of  Little  Enckworth  at  half- 
past  five,  and  drew  up  at  a  beer-house  at  the  end. 
Jumping  out  here,  Julian  told  the  man  to  wait  till  he 
should  return. 

Thus  far  he  had  exactly  obeyed  her  orders  to  Sol. 
He  hoped  to  be  able  to  obey  them  throughout,  and 
supply  her  with  the  aid  her  brother  refused.  He  also 
hoped  that  the  change  in  the  personality  of  her  con- 
federate would  make  no  difference  to  her  intention. 
That  he  was  putting  himself  in  a  wrong  position  he 
allowed,  but  time  and  attention  were  requisite  for  such 
analysis  :  meanwhile  Ethelberta  was  in  trouble.  On 
the  one  hand  was  she  waiting  hopefully  for  Sol ;  on 
the  other  was  Sol  many  miles  on  his  way  to  town ; 
between  them  was  himself. 

He  ran  with  all  his  might  towards  Enckworth 
Park,  mounted  the  lofty  stone  stile  by  the  lodge, 
saw  the  dark  bronze  figures  on  the  piers  through 
the  twilight,  and  then  proceeded  to  thread  the  trees. 
Amonof  these  he  struck  a  lig^ht  for  a  moment :  it  was 
ten  minutes  to  six.  In  another  five  minutes  he  was 
panting  beneath  the  walls  of  her  house. 

Enckworth  Court  was  not  unknown  to  Christopher, 

437 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

for  he  had  frequently  explored  that  spot  in  his  Sand- 
bourne  days.  He  perceived  now  why  she  had  selected 
that  particular  balcony  for  handing  down  directions  ;  it 
was  the  only  one  round  the  house  that  was  low  enough 
to  be  reached  from  the  outside,  the  basement  here 
being  a  little  way  sunk  in  the  ground. 

He  went  close  under,  turned  his  face  outwards,  and 
waited.  About  a  foot  over  his  head  was  the  stone 
floor  of  the  balcony,  forming  a  ceiling  to  his  position. 
At  his  back,  two  or  three  feet  behind,  was  a  blank 
wall — the  wall  of  the  house.  In  front  of  him  w^as  the 
misty  park,  crowned  by  a  sky  sparkling  with  winter 
stars.  This  was  abruptly  cut  off  upward  by  the  dark 
edge  of  the  balcony  which  overhung  him. 

It  was  as  if  some  person  within  the  room  above 
had  been  awaiting  his  approach.  He  had  scarcely 
found  time  to  observe  his  situation  when  a  human 
hand  and  portion  of  a  bare  arm  were  thrust  between 
the  balusters,  descended  a  little  way  from  the  edge  of 
the  balcony,  and  remained  hanging  across  the  starlit 
sky.  Something  was  between  the  fingers.  Chris- 
topher lifted  his  hand,  took  the  scrap,  which  was 
paper,  and  the  arm  was  withdrawn.  As  it  withdrew, 
a  jewel  on  one  of  the  fingers  sparkled  in  the  rays  of  a 
large  planet  that  rode  in  the  opposite  sky. 

Light  steps  retreated  from  the  balcony,  and  a 
window  closed.  Christopher  had  almost  held  his 
breath  lest  Ethelberta  should  discover  him  at  the 
critical  moment  to  be  other  than  Sol,  and  mar  her 
deliverance  by  her  alarm.  The  still  silence  was  any- 
thing but  silence  to  him  ;  he  felt  as  if  he  were  listening 
to  the  clanging  chorus  of  an  oratorio.  And  then  he 
could  fancy  he  heard  words  between  Ethelberta  and 
the  viscount  within  the  room  ;  they  were  evidently 
at  very  close  quarters,  and  dexterity  must  have  been 
required  of  her.  He  went  on  tiptoe  across  the  gravel 
to  the  grass,  and  once  on  that  he  strode  in  the  direction 
whence  he  had  come.  By  the  thick  trunk  of  one 
of  a  group  of  aged  trees  he  stopped   to  get  a  light, 

438 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

just  as  the  Court  clock  struck  six  in  loud  long  tones. 
The  transaction  had  been  carried  out,  through  her 
impatience  possibly,  four  or  five  minutes  before  the 
time  appointed. 

The  note  contained,  in  a  shaken  hand,  in  which, 
however,  the  well-known  characters  were  distinguish- 
able, these  words  in  pencil : 

'At  half-past  seven  o'clock.  Just  outside  the  north 
lodge  ;  don't  fail.' 

This  was  the  time  she  had  suggested  to  Sol  as 
that  which  would  probably  best  suit  her  escape,  if  she 
could  escape  at  all.  She  had  changed  the  place  from 
the  west  to  the  north  lodge — nothing  else.  The 
latter  was  certainly  more  secluded,  though  a  trifle 
more  remote  from  the  course  of  the  proposed  journey  ; 
there  was  just  time  enough  and  none  to  spare  for 
fetching  the  brougham  from  Little  Enckworth  to  the 
lodofe,  the  villaore  beinof  two  miles  off.  The  few 
minutes  gained  by  her  readiness  at  the  balcony  were 
useful  now.  He  started  at  once  for  the  village,  diver- 
ging somewhat  to  observe  the  spot  appointed  for  the 
meeting.  It  was  excellently  chosen  ;  the  gate  appeared 
to  be  little  used,  the  lane  outside  it  was  covered  with 
trees,  and  all  around  was  silent  as  the  grave.  After 
this  hasty  survey  by  the  wan  starlight,  he  hastened  on 
to  Little  Enckworth. 

An  hour  and  a  quarter  later  a  small  brougham 
without  lamps  was  creeping  along  by  the  park  wall 
towards  this  spot.  The  leaves  were  so  thick  upon  the 
unfrequented  road  that  the  wheels  could  not  be  heard, 
and  the  horse's  pacing  made  scarcely  more  noise  than 
a  rabbit  would  have  done  in  limping  along.  The 
vehicle  progressed  slowly,  for  they  were  in  good  time. 
About  ten  yards  from  the  park  entrance  it  stopped, 
and  Christopher  stepped  out. 

'We  may  have  to  wait  here  ten  minutes,'  he  said 
to  the  driver.  *  And  then  shall  we  be  able  to  reach 
Anglebury  in  time  for  the  up  mail-train  to  South- 
ampton ? ' 

439 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA  ^ 

*  Half-past  seven,  half-past  eight,  half- past  nine — 
two  hours.  O  yes,  sir,  easily.  A  young  lady  in  the 
case  perhaps,  sir  ?  * 

*Yes.' 

'Well,  I  hope  she'll  be  done  honestly  by,  even 
if  she  is  of  humble  station.  'Tis  best,  and  cheapest 
too,  in  the  long  run.'  The  coachman  was  apparently 
imagining  the  dove  about  to  flit  away  to  be  one  of 
the  pretty  maid-servants  that  abounded  in  E  nek  worth 
Court ;  such  escapades  as  these  were  not  unfrequent 
among  them,  a  fair  face  having  been  deemed  a  suffi- 
cient recommendation  to  service  in  that  house,  without 
too  close  an  inquiry  into  character,  since  the  death  of 
the  first  viscountess. 

'  Now  then,  silence ;  and  listen  for  a  footstep  at 
the  gate.' 

Such  calmness  as  there  was  in  the  musician's  voice 
had  been  produced  by  considerable  effort.  For  his 
heart  had  begun  to  beat  fast  and  loud  as  he  strained 
his  attentive  ear  to  catch  the  footfall  of  a  woman  who 
could  only  be  his  illegally. 

The  obscurity  was  as  great  as  a  starry  sky  would 
permit  it  to  be.  Beneath  the  trees  where  the  carriage 
stood  the  darkness  was  total. 


ENCKWORTH  AND 

ITS  PRECINCTS 
MELCHESTER 

XLVII 

To  be  wise  after  the  event  is  often  to  act  foolishly 
with  regard  to  it ;  and  to  preserve  the  illusion  which 
has  led  to  the  event  would  frequently  be  a  course  that 
omniscience  itself  could  not  find  fault  with.  Reaction 
with  Ethelberta  was  complete,  and  the  more  violent  in 
that  it  threatened  to  be  useless.  Sol's  bitter  chiding 
had  been  the  first  thing  to  discompose  her  fortitude. 
It  reduced  her  to  a  consciousness  that  she  had  allowed 
herself  to  be  coerced  in  her  instincts,  and  yet  had  not 
triumphed  in  her  duty.  She  might  have  pleased  her 
family  better  by  pleasing  her  tastes,  and  have  entirely 
avoided  the  grim  irony  of  the  situation  disclosed  later 
in  the  day. 

After  the  second  interview  with  Sol  she  was  to 
some  extent  composed  in  mind  by  being  able  to  nurse 
a  definite  intention.  As  momentum  causes  the 
narrowest  wheel  to  stand  upright,  a  scheme,  fairly 
imbibed,  will  give  the  weakest  some  power  to  maintain 
a  position  stoically. 

In  the  temporary  absence  of  Lord  Mountclere, 
about  six  o'clock,  she  slipped  out  upon  the  balcony 
and  handed  down  a  note.  To  her  relief,  a  hand 
received  it  instantly. 

The  hour  and  a  half  wanting  to  half-past  seven  she 

441 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

passed  with  great  effort.  The  main  part  of  the  time 
was  occupied  by  dinner,  during  which  she  attempted  to 
devise  some  scheme  for  leaving  him  without  suspicion 
just  before  the  appointed  moment. 

Happily,  and  as  if  by  a  Providence,  there  was  no 
necessity  for  any  such  thing. 

A  little  while  before  the  half-hour,  when  she  moved 
to  rise  from  dinner,  he  also  arose,  tenderly  begging 
her  to  excuse  him  for  a  few  minutes,  that  he  mio-ht  eo 
and  write  an  important  note  to  his  lawyer,  until  that 
moment  forgotten,  though  the  postman  was  nearly  due. 
She   heard   him   retire   alonor    the    corridor    and    shut 

o 

himself  into  his  study,  his  promised  time  of  return 
being  a  quarter  of  an  hour  thence. 

Five  minutes  after  that  memorable  parting  Ethel- 
berta  came  from  the  little  door  by  the  bush  of  yew, 
well  and  thickly  wrapped  up  from  head  to  heels.  She 
skimmed  across  the  park  and  under  the  boughs  like  a 
shade,  mounting  then  the  stone  steps  for  pedestrians 
which  were  fixed  beside  the  park  gates  here  as  at  all 
the  lodges.  Outside  and  below  her  she  saw  an  oblong 
shape — it  was  a  brougham,  and  it  had  been  drawn 
forward  close  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps  that  she  might 
not  have  an  inch  further  to  go  on  foot  than  to  this 
barrier.  The  whole  precinct  was  thronged  with  trees  ; 
half  their  foliage  being  overhead,  the  other  half  under 
foot,  for  the  gardeners  had  not  yet  begun  to  rake  and 
collect  the  leaves  ;  thus  it  was  that  her  dress  rustled 
as  she  descended  the  steps. 

The  carriage  door  was  held  open  by  the  driver, 
and  she  entered  instantlv.  He  shut  her  in,  and 
mounted  to  his  seat.  As  they  drove  away  she  became 
conscious  of  another  person  inside. 

'  O  !  Sol — it  is  done  ! '  she  whispered,  believing  the 
man  to  be  her  brother.  Her  companion  made  no 
reply. 

Ethelberta,  familiar  with  Sol's  moods  of  troubled 
silence,  did  not  press  for  an  answer.  It  was,  indeed, 
certain   that  Sol's  assistance  would  have  been  given 

442 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

under  a  sullen  protest ;  even  if  unwilling  to  disappoint 
her,  he  might  well  have  been  taciturn  and  angry  at 
her  course. 

They  sat  in  silence,  and  in  total  darkness.  The 
road  ascended  an  incline,  the  horse's  tramp  being  still 
deadened  by  the  carpet  of  leaves.  Then  the  large 
trees  on  either  hand  became  interspersed  by  a  low 
brushwood  of  varied  sorts,  from  which  a  large  bird 
occasionally  flew,  in  its  affright  at  their  presence 
beating  its  wings  recklessly  against  the  hard  stems  with 
force  enough  to  cripple  the  delicate  quills.  It  showed 
how  deserted  was  the  spot  after  nightfall. 

'  Sol  .^ '  said  Ethelberta  again.  'Why  not  talk  to 
me:^ 

She  now  noticed  that  her  fellow-traveller  kept  his 
head  and  his  whole  person  as  snugly  back  in  the 
corner,  out  of  her  way,  as  it  w^as  possible  to  do.  She 
was  not  exactly  frightened,  but  she  could  not  understand 
the  reason.  The  carriage  gave  a  quick  turn,  and 
stopped. 

'  Where  are  we  now  ? '  she  said.  '  Shall  we  get  to 
Anglebury  by  nine  ?     What  is  the  time,  Sol  ?  ' 

*  I  will  see,'  replied  her  companion.  They  w^ere 
the  first  words  he  had  uttered. 

The  voice  was  so  different  from  her  brother's  that 
she  was  terrified ;  her  limbs  quivered.  In  another 
instant  the  speaker  had  struck  a  wax  vesta,  and  holding 
it  erect  in  his  fingers  he  looked  her  in  the  face. 

'  Hee-hee-hee  ! '  The  laugher  was  her  husband 
the  viscount. 

He  laughed  again,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  like  a 
couple  of  tarnished  brass  buttons  in  the  light  of  the 
wax  match. 

Ethelberta  might  have  fallen  dead  with  the  shock, 
so  terrible  and  hideous  was  it.  Yet  she  did  not.  She 
neither  shrieked  nor  fainted ;  but  no  poor  January 
fieldfare  was  ever  colder,  no  ice-house  more  dank  with 
perspiration,  than  she  was  then. 

'  A  very  pleasant  joke,  my  dear — hee-hee !     And 

443 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

no  more  than  was  to  be  expected  on  this  merry,  happy- 
day  of  our  lives.  Nobody  enjoys  a  good  jest  more 
than  I  do  :  I  always  enjoyed  a  jest — hee-hee !  Now 
we  are  in  the  dark  again  ;  and  we  will  alight  and  walk. 
The  path  is  too  narrow  for  the  carriage,  but  it  will  not 
be  far  for  you.     Take  your  husband's  arm.' 

While  he  had  been  speaking  a  defiant  pride  had 
sprung  up  in  her,  instigating  her  to  conceal  every 
weakness.  He  had  opened  the  carriage  door  and 
stepped  out.     She  followed,  taking  the  offered  arm. 

*  Take  the  horse  and  carriage  to  the  stables,'  said 
the  viscount  to  the  coachman,  who  was  his  own  servant, 
the  vehicle  and  horse  being  also  his.  The  coachman 
turned  the  horse's  head  and  vanished  down  the  wood- 
land track  by  which  they  had  ascended. 

The  viscount  moved  on,  uttering  private  chuckles 
as  numerous  as  a  woodpecker's  taps,  and  Ethelberta 
with  him.  She  walked  as  by  a  miracle,  but  she  would 
walk.  She  would  have  died  rather  than  not  have 
walked  then. 

She  perceived  now  that  they  were  somewhere  in 
Enckworth  wood.  As  they  went,  she  noticed  a  faint 
shine  upon  the  ground  on  the  other  side  of  the  viscount, 
which  showed  her  that  they  were  walking  beside  a 
wet  ditch.  She  remembered  having  seen  it  in  the 
morning  :  it  was  a  shallow  ditch  of  mud.  She  might 
push  him  in,  and  run,  and  so  escape  before  he  could 
extricate  himself.  It  would  not  hurt  him.  It  was  her 
last  chance.  She  waited  a  moment  for  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

*  We  are  one  to  one,  and  I  am  the  stronger ! '  she 
at  last  exclaimed  triumphantly,  and  lifted  her  hand  for 
a  thrust. 

'  On  the  contrary,  darling,  we  are  one  to  half-a- 
dozen,  and  you  considerably  the  weaker,'  he  tenderly 
replied,  stepping  back  adroitly,  and  blowing  a  whistle. 
At  once  the  bushes  seemed  to  be  animated  in  four  or 
five  places. 

*  John  ? '  he  said,  in  the  direction  of  one  of  them. 

444 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'Yes,  my  lord,'  replied  a  voice  from  the  bush,  and 
a  keeper  came  forward. 

'  William  ? ' 

Another  man  advanced  from  another  bush. 

'  Quite  ris^ht.  Remain  where  vou  are  for  the 
present.      Is  Tomkins  there?' 

'  Yes,  my  lord,'  said  a  man  from  another  part  of  the 
thicket. 

'  You  go  and  keep  watch  by  the  further  lodge : 
there  are  poachers  about.     Where  is  Strongway?' 

'Just  below,  my  lord.' 

*  Tell  him  and  his  brother  to  go  to  the  west  gate, 
and  walk  up  and  down.  Let  them  search  round  it, 
amoncr  the  trees  inside.  Anvbodv  there  who  cannot 
o-ive  a  Q-Qod  account  of  himself  to  be  brouo-ht  before 
me  to-morrow  mornino-.      I  am  livins^  at  the  cottage  at 


'&•  ' " O  ^        wwv.^^ 


present.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you.'  And,  turn- 
ing round  to  Ethelberta :  *  Now,  dearest,  we  will  walk 
a  little  further  if  you  are  able.  I  have  provided  that 
your  friends  shall  be  taken  care  of.'  He  tried  to  pull 
her  hand  towards  him,  gently,  like  a  cat  opening  a 
door. 

They  walked  a  little  onward,  and  Lord  Mountclere 
spoke  again,  with  imperturbable  good-humour  : 

'  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  to  pass  the  time  away.  I 
have  learnt  the  art  from  vou — vour  mantle  has  fallen 
upon  me,  and  all  your  inspiration  with  it.  Listen, 
dearest.  I  saw  a  vouno;-  man  come  to  the  house  to-dav. 
Afterwards  I  saw  him  cross  a  passage  in  your  company. 
You  entered  the  ball-room  with  him.  That  room  is 
a  treacherous  place.  It  is  panelled  with  wood,  and 
between  the  panels  and  the  walls  is  a  passage  for  the 
servants,  opening  from  the  room  by  doors  hidden  in 
the  woodwork.  Lady  Mountclere  knew  of  one  of 
these,  and  made  use  of  it  to  let  out  her  conspirator  ; 
Lord  Mountclere  knew  of  another,  and  made  use  of  it 
to  let  in  himself  His  sis^ht  is  not  g^ood,  but  his  ears 
are  unimpaired.  A  meeting  was  arranged  to  take 
place  at  the  west  gate  at  half-past  seven,  unless  a  note 

445 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

handed  from  the  balcony  mentioned  another  time  and 
place.      He  heard  it  all — hee-hee  ! 

'  When  Lady  Ivlountclere's  confederate  came  for  the 
note,  I  was  in  waiting  above,  and  handed  one  down  a 
few  minutes  before  the  hour  struck,  confirming  the 
time,  but  changing  the  place.  When  Lady  Mountclere 
handed  down  her  note,  just  as  the  clock  was  striking, 
her  confederate  had  gone,  and  I  was  standing  beneath 
the  balcony  to  receive  it.  She  dropped  it  into  her 
husband's  hands — ho-ho-ho-ho  !  * 

'  Lord  Mountclere  ordered  a  brougham  to  be  at 
the  west  lodge,  as  fixed  by  Lady  INIountclere's  note. 
Probably  Lady  Mountclere's  friend  ordered  a  brougham 
to  be  at  the  north  gate,  as  fixed  by  my  note,  written  in 
imitation  of  Lady  Mountclere's  hand.  Lady  Mount- 
clere came  to  the  spot  she  had  mentioned,  and  like 
a  good  wife  rushed  into  the  arms  of  her  husband — hoo- 
hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo ! ' 

As  if  by  an  ungovernable  impulse,  Ethelberta 
broke  into  laughter  also — laugrhter  which  had  a  wild 
unnatural  sound  ;  It  was  hysterical.  She  sank  down 
upon  the  leaves,  and  there  continued  the  fearful  laugh 
just  as  before. 

Lord  Mountclere  became  greatly  frightened.  The 
spot  they  had  reached  was  a  green  space  within  a 
girdle  of  hollies,  and  in  front  of  them  rose  an 
ornamental  cottage.  This  was  the  building  which 
Ethelberta  had  visited  earlier  in  the  day  :  it  was  the 
Petit  Trianon  of  E  nek  worth  Court. 

The  viscount  left  her  side  and  hurried  forward. 
The  door  of  the  building  was  opened  by  a  woman. 

'  Have  you  prepared  for  us,  as  I  directed  .f^' 

*  Yes,  my  lord  ;  tea  and  coffee  are  both  ready.' 

*  Never  mind  that  now.  Lady  Mountclere  is  ill ; 
come  and  assist  her  indoors.  Tell  the  other  woman 
to  bring  wine  and  water  at  once.* 

He  returned  to  Ethelberta.  She  was  better,  and 
was  sitting  calmly  on  the  bank.  She  rose  without 
assistance. 

446 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'You  may  retire,'  he  said  to  the  woman  who  had 
followed  him,  and  she  turned  round.  When  Ethelberta 
saw  the  building,  she  drew  back  quickly. 

'Where  is  the  other  Lady  Mountclere?'  she 
inquired. 

'  Gone !  * 

*  She  shall  never  return — never  ?  ' 

*  Never.      It  was  not  intended  that  she  should.* 

*  That  sounds  well.  Lord  Mountclere,  we  may  as 
well  compromise  matters.' 

*  I  think  so  too.  It  becomes  a  lady  to  make  a 
virtue  of  a  necessity.' 

'  It  was  stratagem  against  stratagem.  Mine  was 
ingenious  ;  yours  was  masterly  !  Accept  my  acknow- 
ledgment.    We  will  enter  upon  an  armed  neutrality.* 

'  No.  Let  me  be  your  adorer  and  slave  again,  as 
ever.  Your  beauty,  dearest,  covers  everything  !  You 
are  my  mistress  and  queen !  But  here  we  are  at  the 
door.  Tea  is  prepared  for  us  here.  I  have  a  liking 
for  life  in  this  cottage  mode,  and  live  here  on  occasion. 
Women,  attend  to  Lady  Mountclere.' 

The  woman  who  had  seen  Ethelberta  in  the  morn- 
ing was  alarmed  at  recognizing  her,  having  since  been 
informed  officially  of  the  marriage  :  she  murmured  en- 
treaties for  pardon.  They  assisted  the  viscountess  to  a 
chair,  the  door  was  closed,  and  the  wind  blew  past  as 
if  nobody  had  ever  stood  there  to  interrupt  its  flight. 

Full  of  misgivings,  Christopher  continued  to  wait  at 
the  north  gate.  Half-past  seven  had  long  since  been 
past,  and  no  Ethelberta  had  appeared.  He  did  not 
for  the  moment  suppose  the  delay  to  be  hers,  and  this 
gave  him  patience  ;  having  taken  up  the  position,  he 
was  induced  by  fidelity  to  abide  by  the  consequences. 
It  would  be  only  a  journey  of  two  hours  to  reach  Angle- 
bury  Station  ;  he  would  ride  outside  with  the  driver, 
put  her  into  the  train,  and  bid  her  adieu  for  ever.  She 
had  cried  for  help,  and  he  had  heard  her  cry. 

At  last  through  the  trees  came  the  sound  of  the 

447 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Court  clock  striking  eight,  and  then,  for  the  first  time, 
a  doubt  arose  in  his  mind  whether  she  could  have  mis- 
taken the  gate.  She  had  distinctly  told  Sol  the  west 
lodge  ;  her  note  had  expressed  the  north  lodge.  Could 
she  by  any  accident  have  written  one  thing  while 
meaning  another  ?  He  entered  the  carriage,  and 
drove  round  to  the  west  gate.  All  was  as  silent  there 
as  at  the  other,  the  meeting  between  Ethelberta  and 
Lord  Mountclere  being  then  long  past ;  and  he  drove 
back  again. 

He  left  the  carriage,  and  entered  the  park  on  foot, 
approaching  the  house  slowly.  All  was  silent ;  the 
windows  were  dark ;  moping  sounds  came  from  the 
trees  and  sky,  as  from  Sorrow  whispering  to  Night. 
By  this  time  he  felt  assured  that  the  scheme  had  mis- 
carried. While  he  stood  here  a  carriage  without  lights 
came  up  the  drive  ;  it  turned  in  towards  the  stable-yard 
without  going  to  the  door.  The  carriage  had  plainly 
been  empty. 

Returning  across  the  grass  by  the  way  he  had 
come,  he  was  startled  by  the  voices  of  two  men  from 
the  road  hard  by. 

*  Have  ye  zeed  anybody  ?  * 

*  Not  a  soul' 

'  Shall  we  go  across  again  ?  * 

*  What's  the  good  ?  let's  home  to  supper.' 

*  My  lord  must  have  heard  somebody,  or  *a 
wouldn't  have  said  it.' 

'  Perhaps  he's  nervous  now  he's  living  in  the  cottage 
again.  I  thought  that  fancy  was  over.  Well,  I'm  glad 
'tis  a  young  wife  he's  brought  us.  She'll  have  her 
routs  and  her  rackets  as  well  as  the  high-born  ones, 
you'll  see,  as  soon  as  she  gets  used  to  the  place.' 

'  She  must  be  a  queer  Christian  to  pick  up  with 
him.' 

'  Well,  if  she've  charity  'tis  enough  for  us  poor 
men  ;  her  faith  and  hope  may  be  as  please  God.  Now 
I'm  for  on-along  homeward.' 

As  soon  as  they  had  gone  Christopher  moved  from 

44.8 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

his  hiding,  and,  avoiding  the  gravel-walk,  returned 
to  his  coachman,  telling  him  to  drive  at  once  to 
Anglebury. 

Julian  was  so  impatient  of  the  futility  of  his  adven- 
ture  that  he  wished  to  annihilate  Its  existence.  On 
reaching  Anglebury  he  determined  to  get  on  at  once 
to  Melchester,  that  the  event  of  the  night  might  be 
summarily  ended ;  to  be  still  In  the  neighbourhood 
was  to  be  still  engaged  in  It.  He  reached  home  before 
midnight. 

Walking  Into  their  house  near  the  quiet  Close,  as 
dissatisfied  with  himself  as  a  man  well  could  be  who 
still  retained  health  and  an  occupation,  he  found  Faith 
sitting  up  as  usual.  His  news  was  simple:  the 
marriage  had  taken  place  before  he  could  get  there, 
and  he  had  seen  nothing  of  either  ceremony  or 
viscountess.  The  remainder  he  reserved  for  a  more 
convenient  season. 

Faith  looked  anxiously  at  him  as  he  ate  supper, 
smiling  now  and  then. 

'Well,  I  am  tired  of  this  Hfe,'  said  Christopher. 

*So  am  I,'  said  Faith.  *  Ah,  if  we  were  only 
rich ! ' 

*  Ah,  yes.' 

'  Or  If  we  were  not  rich,'  she  said,  turning  her  eyes 
to  the  fire.  '  If  we  were  only  slighdy  provided  for,  it 
would  be  better  than  nothing.  How  much  would  you 
be  content  with.  Kit  ? ' 

*  As  much  as  I  could  get.* 

'  Would  you  be  content  with  a  thousand  a  year  for 
both  of  us  ? ' 

'I  daresay  I  should,'  he  murmured,  breaking  his 
bread. 

'  Or  five  hundred  for  both  ?  ' 

'  Or  five  hundred.' 

'  Or  even  three  hundred  ?  * 

*  Bother  three  hundred.  Less  than  double  the 
sum  would  not  satisfy  me.  We  may  as  well  imagine 
much  as  little.' 

449 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

Faith's  countenance  had  fallen.  '  O  Kit,'  she  said, 
'you  always  disappoint  me.* 

'  I  do.      How  do  I  disappoint  you  this  time  ?' 

'  By  not  caring  for  three  hundred  a  year — a 
hundred  and  fifty  each — when  that  is  all  I  have  to 
offer  you.* 

'  Faith ! '  said  he,  looking  up  for  the  first  time. 
•  *Ah — of  course!     Lucy's  will.      I  had  forgotten.* 

'It  is  true,  and  I  had  prepared  such  a  pleasant 
surprise  for  you,  and  now  you  don't  care !  Our  cousin 
Lucy  did  leave  us  something  after  all.  I  don't  under- 
stand the  exact  total  sum,  but  it  comes  to  a  hundred 
and  fifty  a  year  each — more  than  I  expected,  though 
not  so  much  as  you  deserved.  Here's  the  letter.  I 
have  been  dwelling  upon  it  all  day,  and  thinking  what 
a  pleasure  it  would  be  ;  and  it  is  not  after  all ! ' 

'  Good  gracious,  Faith,  I  was  only  supposing. 
The  real  thing  is  another  matter  altogether.  Well, 
the  idea  of  Lucy's  will  containing  our  names !  I  am 
sure  I  would  have  gone  to  the  funeral  had  I  known.* 

'  I  wish  it  were  a  thousand.' 

*0  no — it  doesn't  matter  at  all.  But,  certainly, 
three  hundred  for  two  is  a  tantalizing  sum  :  not  enough 
to  enable  us  to  change  our  condition,  and  enough  to 
make  us  dissatisfied  with  going  on  as  we  are.' 

'  We  must  forget  we  have  it,  and  let  it  increase.' 

*  It  isn't  enough  to  increase  much.  We  may  as 
well  use  it.  But  how  ?  Take  a  bigger  house — what's 
the  use  ?  Give  up  the  organ  ? — then  I  shall  be  rather 
worse  off  than  I  am  at  present.  Positively,  it  is  the 
most  provoking  amount  anybody  could  have  invented 
had  they  tried  ever  so  long.  Poor  Lucy,  to  do  that, 
and  not  even  to  come  near  us  when  father  died.  .  .  . 
Ah,  I  know  what  we'll  do.  We'll  go  abroad— we'll 
live  in  Italy/ 


ANGLEBURY 
ENCKWORTH 

SANDBOURNE 

SEQUEL 

Two  years  and  a  half  after  the  marriage  of  Ethelberta, 
and  the  evening  adventures  which  followed  it,  a  man 
young  in  years,  though  considerably  oldened  in  mood 
and  expression,  walked  up  to  the  'Red  Lion'  Inn  at 
Anglebury.  The  anachronism  sat  not  unbecomingly 
upon  him,  and  the  voice  was  precisely  that  of  the 
Christopher  Julian  of  heretofore.  His  way  of  entering 
the  inn  and  calling  for  a  conveyance  was  more  off-hand 
than  formerly  ;  he  was  much  less  afraid  of  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice  now  than  when  he  had  o^one  through 
the  same  performance  on  a  certain  chill  evening  the 
last  time  that  he  visited  the  spot.  He  wanted  to  be 
taken  to  Knollsea  to  meet  the  steamer  there,  and  was 
not  coming  back  by  the  same  vehicle. 

It  was  a  very  different  day  from  that  of  his 
previous  journey  along  the  same  road  ;  different  in 
season  ;  different  in  weather  ;  and  the  humour  of  the 
observer  differed  yet  more  widely  from  its  condition 
then  than  did  the  landscape  from  its  former  hues.  In 
due  time  they  reached  a  commanding  situation  upon 
the  road,  from  which  were  visible  knots  and  plantations 
of  trees  on  the  Enckworth  manor.  Christopher  broke 
the  silence. 

'  Lord  Mountclere  is  still  alive  and  well,  I  am  told  ?  * 

451 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

'O  ay.  He'll  live  to  be  a  hundred.  Never  such 
a  change  as  has  come  over  the  man  of  late  years.' 

*  Indeed ! ' 

*  O,  'tis  my  lady.  She's  a  one  to  put  up  with ! 
Still,  'tis  said  here  and  there  that  marrying  her  was 
the  best  day's  work  that  he  ever  did  in  his  life, 
although  she's  got  to  be  my  lord  and  my  lady  both.' 

'  Is  she  happy  with  him  .'^ ' 

'  She  is  very  sharp  with  the  poor  man — about 
happy  I  don't  know.  He  was  a  good-natured  old 
man,  for  all  his  sins,  and  would  sooner  any  day  lay 
out  money  in  new  presents  than  pay  it  in  old  debts. 
But  'tis  altered  now.  'Tisn't  the  same  place.  Ah,  in 
the  old  times  I  have  seen  the  floor  of  the  servants' 
hall  over  the  vamp  of  your  boot  in  solid  beer  that  we 
had  poured  outside  the  horns  because  we  couldn't  see 
straight  enough  to  pour  it  in.  See  ?  No,  we  couldn't 
see  a  hole  in  a  ladder !  And  now,  even  at  Christmas 
or  Whitsuntide,  when  a  man,  if  ever  he  desires  to  be 
overcome  with  a  drop,  would  naturally  wish  it  to  be, 
you  can  walk  out  of  E  nek  worth  as  straight  as  you 
walked  in.     All  her  doings.' 

'  Then  she  holds  the  reins  ?  ' 

'  She  do !  There  was  a  little  tussle  at  first ;  but 
how  could  a  old  man  hold  his  own  against  such  a  spry 
young  body  as  that !  She  threatened  to  run  away 
from  him,  and  kicked  up  Bob's-a-dying,  and  I  don't 
know  what  all ;  and  being  the  woman,  of  course  she 
was  sure  to  beat  in  the  long  run.  Poor  old  nobleman, 
she  marches  him  off  to  church  every  Sunday  as  regular 
as  a  clock,  makes  him  read  family  prayers  that  haven't 
been  read  in  Enckworth  for  the  last  thirty  years  to  my 
certain  knowledge,  and  keeps  him  down  to  three 
glasses  of  wine  a  day,  strict,  so  that  you  never  see  him 
any  the  more  generous  for  liquor  or  a  bit  elevated  at 
all,  as  it  used  to  be.  There,  'tis  true,  it  has  done  him 
good  in  one  sense,  for  they  say  he'd  have  been  dead 
in  five  years  if  he  had  gone  on  as  he  was  going.' 

*  So  that  she's  a  good  wife  to  him,  after  all.* 

452 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  Well,  if  she  had  been  a  little  worse  'twould  have 
been  a  little  better  for  him  in  one  sense,  for  he  would 
have  had  his  own  way  more.  But  he  was  a  curious 
feller  at  one  time,  as  we  all  know,  and  I  suppose  'tis  as 
much  as  he  can  expect ;  but  'tis  a  strange  reverse  for 
him.  It  is  said  that  when  he's  asked  out  to  dine,  or 
to  anything  in  the  way  of  a  jaunt,  his  eye  flies  across 
to  hers  afore  he  answ^ers  :  and  if  her  eye  says  yes,  he 
says  yes  :  and  if  her  eye  says  no,  he  says  no.  'Tis  a 
sad  condition  for  one  who  ruled  womankind  as  he, 
that  a  woman  should  lead  him  in  a  string  whether  he 
will  or  no.' 

*  Sad  indeed  !  * 

*  She's  steward,  and  agent,  and  everything.  She 
has  got  a  room  called  "my  lady's  office,"  and  great 
ledgers  and  cash-books  you  never  see  the  like.  In  old 
times  there  were  bailiffs  to  look  after  the  workfolk, 
foremen  to  look  after  the  tradesmen,  a  building-steward 
to  look  after  the  foremen,  a  land-steward  to  look  after 
the  building-steward,  and  a  dashing  grand  agent  to 
look  after  the  land-steward  :  fine  times  they  had  then, 
I  assure  'ee  i  My  lady  said  they  were  eating  out  the 
property  like  a  honeycomb,  and  then  there  was  a 
terrible  row.  Half  of  'em  were  sent  flying  ;  and  now 
there's  only  the  agent,  and  the  viscountess,  and  a  sort 
of  surveyor  man,  and  of  the  three  she  does  most  work, 
so  'tis  said.  She  marks  the  trees  to  be  felled,  settles 
what  horses  are  to  be  sold  and  bought,  and  is  out  in 
all  winds  and  weathers.  There,  if  somebody  hadn't 
looked  into  things  'twould  soon  have  been  all  up  with 
his  lordship,  he  was  so  very  extravagant.  In  one 
sense  'twas  lucky  for  him  that  she  was  born  in  humble 
life,  because  owing  to  it  she  knows  the  ins  and  outs 
of  contriving,  which  he  never  did.* 

*  Then  a  man  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy  will  do 
better  to  marry  a  poor  and  sensible  wife  than  a  rich  and 
stupid  one.  Well,  here  we  are  at  the  seventh  milestone. 
I  will  walk  the  remainder  of  the  distance  to  Knollsea, 
as  there  is  ample  time  for  meeting  the  last  steamboat.' 

453 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

When  the  man  was  gone  Christopher  proceeded 
slowly  on  foot  down  the  hill,  and  reached  that  part 
of  the  highway  at  which  he  had  stopped  in  the  cold 
November  breeze  waiting  for  a  woman  who  never 
came.  He  was  older  now,  and  he  had  ceased  to  wish 
that  he  had  not  been  disappointed.  There  was  the 
lodge,  and  around  it  were  the  trees,  brilliant  in  the 
shining  greens  of  June.  Every  twig  sustained  its  bird, 
and  every  blossom  its  bee.  The  roadside  was  not 
muffled  in  a  garment  of  dead  leaves  as  it  had  been 
then,  and  the  lodge-gate  was  not  open  as  it  always 
used  to  be.  He  paused  to  look  through  the  bars.  The 
drive  was  well  kept  and  gravelled  ;  the  grass  edgings, 
formerly  marked  by  hoofs  and  ruts,  and  otherwise 
trodden  away,  were  now  green  and  luxuriant,  bent 
sticks  being  placed  at  intervals  as  a  protection. 

While  he  looked  through  the  gate  a  woman  stepped 
from  the  lodge  to  open  it.  In  her  haste  she  nearly 
swung  the  gate  into  his  face,  and  would  have  completely 
done  so  had  he  not  jumped  back. 

T  beg  pardon,  sir,'  she  said,  on  perceiving  him.  *I 
was  going  to  open  it  for  my  lady,  and  I  didn't  see  you.' 

Christopher  moved  round  the  corner.  The  per- 
petual snubbing  that  he  had  received  from  Ethelberta 
ever  since  he  had  known  her  seemed  about  to  be 
continued  through  the  medium  of  her  dependents. 

A  trotting,  accompanied  by  the  sound  of  light 
wheels,  had  become  perceptible  ;  and  then  a  vehicle 
came  through  the  gate,  and  turned  up  the  road  which 
he  had  come  down.  He  saw  the  back  of  a  basket 
carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  piebald  ponies.  A  lad  in 
livery  sat  behind  with  folded  arms  ;  the  driver  was  a 
lady.  He  saw  her  bonnet,  her  shoulders,  her  hair — 
but  no  more.  She  lessened  in  his  gaze,  and  was  soon 
out  of  sight. 

He  stood  a  long  time  thinking ;  but  he  did  not 
wish  her  his. 

In  this  wholesome  frame  of  mind  he  proceeded 
on  his  way,  thankful  that  he  had  escaped  meeting  her, 

454 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

though  so  narrowly.  But  perhaps  at  this  remote  season 
the  embarrassment  of  a  rencounter  would  not  have  been 
intense.  i\t  Knollsea  he  entered  the  steamer  for 
Sandbourne. 

Mr.  Chickerel  and  his  family  now  lived  at  Firtop 
Villa  in  that  place,  a  house  which,  like  many  others, 
had  been  built  since  Julian's  last  visit  to  the  town.  He 
was  directed  to  the  outskirts,  and  into  a  fir  plantation 
where  drives  and  intersecting  roads  had  been  laid  out, 
and  where  new  villas  had  sprung  up  like  mushrooms. 
He  entered  by  a  swing  gate,  on  which  '  Firtop '  was 
painted,  and  a  maid  -  servant  showed  him  into  a 
neatlv-furnished  room,  containinor  Mr.  Chickerel,  Mrs. 
Chickerel,  and  Picotee,  the  matron  being  reclined  on 
a  couch,  which  improved  health  had  permitted  her  to 
substitude  for  a  bed. 

He  had  been  expected,  and  all  were  glad  to  see 
again  the  sojourner  in  foreign  lands,  even  down  to  the 
lady-like  tabby,  who  was  all  purr  and  warmth  towards 
him  except  when  she  was  all  claws  and  coldness.  But 
had  the  prime  sentiment  of  the  meeting  shown  itself  it 
would  have  been  the  unqualified  surprise  of  Christopher 
at  seeing  how  much  Picotee's  face  had  grown  to 
resemble  her  sister's  :  it  was  less  a  resemblance  in 
contours  than  in  expression  and  tone. 

They  had  an  early  tea,  and  then  Mr.  Chickerel, 
sitting  in  a  patriarchal  chair,  conversed  pleasantly  with 
his  guest,  being  well  acquainted  with  him  through 
other  members  of  the  family.  They  talked  of  Julian's 
residence  at  different  Italian  towns  w^ith  his  sister;  of 
Faith,  who  was  at  the  present  moment  staying  with 
some  old  friends  in  Melchester  ;  and,  as  was  inevitable, 
the  discourse  hovered  over  and  settled  upon  Ethel berta, 
the  prime  ruler  of  the  courses  of  them  all,  with  little 
exception,  through  recent  years. 

'  It  was  a  hard  struggle  for  her,'  said  Chickerel, 
looking  reflectively  out  at  the  fir  trees.  '  I  never 
thought  the  girl  would  have  got  through  it.  When 
she  first  entered  the  house  ever)'body  was  against  her. 

455 


THE  HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

She  had  to  fight  a  whole  host  of  them  single-handed. 
There  was  the  viscount's  brother,  other  relations, 
lawyers,  ladies,  servants,  not  one  of  them  was  her 
friend  ;  and  not  one  who  wouldn't  rather  have  seen  her 
arrive  there  in  evil  relationship  with  him  than  as  she  did 
come.  But  she  stood  her  ground.  She  was  put  upon 
her  mettle  ;  and  one  by  one  they  got  to  feel  there  was 
somebody  among  them  w^hose  little  finger,  If  they 
insulted  her,  was  thicker  than  a  Mountclere's  loins. 
She  must  have  had  a  will  of  iron  ;  it  was  a  situation 
that  would  have  broken  the  hearts  of  a  dozen  ordinary 
women,  for  everybody  soon  knew  that  we  were  of  no 
family,  and  that's  what  made  it  so  hard  for  her.  But 
there  she  is  as  mistress  now,  and  everybody  respecting 
her.  I  sometimes  fancy  she  is  occasionally  too  severe 
with  the  servants,  and  I  know  what  service  is.  But 
she  says  it  is  necessary,  owing  to  her  birth ;  and 
perhaps  she  is  right.' 

'  I  suppose  she  often  comes  to  see  you  ? ' 

*  Four  or  five  times  a  year,'  said  Picotee. 

*  She  cannot  come  quite  so  often  as  she  would,'  said 
Mrs.  Chickerel,  'because  of  her  lofty  position,  which 
has  Its  juties.  Well,  as  I  always  say,  Berta  doesn't 
take  after  me.  I  couldn't  have  married  the  man  even 
though  he  did  bring;  a  coronet  with  him.' 

'  I  shouldn't  have  cared  to  let  him  ask  'ee,'  said 
Chickerel.  '  However,  that's  neither  here  nor  there — 
all  ended  better  than  I  expected.      He's  fond  of  her.' 

'  And  it  is  wonderful  what  can  be  done  with  an  old 
man  when  you  are  his  darling,'  said  Mrs.  Chickerel. 

*  If  I  were  Berta  I  should  go  to  London  oftener,* 
said  Picotee,  to  turn  the  conversation.  '  But  she  lives 
mostly  In  the  library.  And,  O,  what  do  you  think? 
She  is  writing  an  epic  poem,  and  employs  Emmeline 
as  her  reader.' 

*  Dear  me.  And  how  are  Sol  and  Dan  ?  You 
mentioned  them  once  In  your  letters,*  said  Christopher. 

*  Berta  has  set  them  up  as  builders  in  London.' 

*  She  boucfht  a  business  for  them,'  said  Chickerel, 

456 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

*  But  Sol  wouldn't  accept  her  help  for  a  long  time,  and 
now  he  has  only  agreed  to  it  on  condition  of  paying 
her  back  the  money  with  interest,  which  he  is  doing. 
They  have  just  signed  a  contract  to  build  a  hospital 
for  twenty  thousand  pounds.' 

Picotee  broke  in — '  You  knew  that  both  Gwendoline 
and  Cornelia  married  two  years  ago,  and  went  to 
Queensland  ?  They  married  two  brothers,  who  were 
farmers,  and  left  England  the  following  week.  Georgia 
and  Myrtle  are  at  school.' 

'And  Joey.?' 

*We  are  thinking  of  making  Joseph  a  parson,*  said 
Mrs.  Chickerel. 

'  Indeed  !  a  parson.' 

*  Yes  ;  'tis  a  genteel  living  for  the  boy.  And  he's 
talents  that  way.  Since  he  has  been  under  masters  he 
know^s  all  the  strange  sounds  the  old  Romans  and 
Greeks  used  to  make  by  way  of  talking,  and  the  love 
stories  of  the  ancient  women  as  if  they  were  his  own. 
I  assure  you,  Mr.  Julian,  if  you  could  hear  how  beauti- 
ful the  boy  tells  about  little  Cupid  with  his  bow  and 
arrows,  and  the  rows  between  that  pagan  apostle 
Jupiter  and  his  wife  because  of  another  woman,  and 
the  handsome  young  gods  who  kissed  Venus,  you'd  say 
he  deserved  to  be  made  a  bishop  at  once ! ' 

The  evening  advanced,  and  they  walked  In  the 
garden.  Here,  by  some  means,  Picotee  and  Christopher 
found  themselves  alone. 

'Your  letters  to  my  sister  have  been  charming,' 
said  Christopher.  'And  so  regular,  too.  It  was  as 
good  as  a  birthday  every  time  one  arrived.' 

Picotee  blushed  and  said  nothing. 

Christopher  had  full  assurance  that  her  heart  was 
where  it  had  always  been.  A  suspicion  of  the  fact  had 
been  the  reason  of  his  visit  here  to-day. 

'  Other  letters  were  once  written  from  England  to 
Italy,  and  they  acquired  great  celebrity.  Do  you  know 
whose  ? ' 

'  Walpole's  ? '  said  Picotee  timidly. 

457 


THE   HAND  OF  ETHELBERTA 

*  Yes  ;  but  they  never  charmed  me  half  as  much  as 
yours.  You  may  rest  assured  that  one  person  in  the 
world  thinks  Walpole  your  second.' 

'  You  should  not  have  read  them  ;  they  were  not 
written  to  you.  But  I  suppose  you  wished  to  hear  of 
Ethelberta?' 

*At  first  I  did,'  said  Christopher.  'But,  oddly 
enough,  I  got  more  interested  in  the  writer  than  in  her 
news.  I  don't  know  if  ever  before  there  has  been  an 
instance  of  loving  by  means  of  letters  ;  if  not,  it  is 
because  there  have  never  been  such  sweet  ones  written. 
At  last  I  looked  for  them  more  anxiously  than  Faith.' 

'You  see,  you  knew  me  before.'  Picotee  would 
have  withdrawn  this  remark  if  she  could,  fearing  that 
it  seemed  like  a  suggestion  of  her  love  long  ago. 

'Then,  on  my  return,  I  thought  I  would  just  call 
and  see  you,  and  go  away  and  think  what  would  be 
best  for  me  to  do  with  a  view  to  the  future.  But  since 
I  have  been  here  I  have  felt  that  I  could  not  go  away 
to  think  without  first  asking  you  what  you  think  on 
one  point — whether  you  could  ever  marry  me  ? ' 

•  I  thought  you  would  ask  that  when  I  first  saw 
you.' 

'  Did  you.     Why  ? ' 

'You  looked  at  me  as  if  you  would.* 

'Well,'  continued  Christopher,  'the  worst  of  it  is  I 
am  as  poor  as  Job.  Faith  and  I  have  three  hundred 
a  year  between  us,  but  only  half  is  mine.  So  that 
before  I  get  your  promise  I  must  let  your  father  know 
how  poor  I  am.  Besides  what  I  mention,  I  have  only 
my  earnings  by  music.  But  I  am  to  be  installed  as 
chief  organist  at  Melchester  soon,  instead  of  deputy,  as 
I  used  to  be  ;  which  is  something.' 

'  I  am  to  have  five  hundred  pounds  when  I  marry. 
That  was  Lord  Mountclere's  arrangement  with  Ethel- 
berta. He  is  extremely  anxious  that  I  should  marry 
well.' 

'That's  unfortunate.  A  marriage  with  me  will 
hardly  be  considered  well.' 

458 


A  COMEDY  IN  CHAPTERS 

'O  yes,  it  will,'  said  Picotee  quickly,  and  then 
looked  frightened. 

Christopher  drew  her  towards  him,  and  imprinted 
a  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  at  which  Picotee  was  not  so 
wretched  as  she  had  been  some  years  before  when  he 
mistook  her  for  another  in  that  performance. 

'  Berta  will  never  let  us  come  to  want,'  she  said, 
with  vivacity,  when  she  had  recovered.  '  She  always 
gives  me  what  is  necessary.' 

'We  will  endeavour  not  to  trouble  her,'  said  Chris- 
topher, amused  by  Picotee's  utter  dependence  now  as 
ever  upon  her  sister,  as  upon  an  eternal  Providence. 
•  However,  it  is  well  to  be  kin  to  a  coach  though  you 
never  ride  in  it.  Now,  shall  we  go  indoors  to  your 
father  ?     You  think  he  will  not  object  ? ' 

*  I  think  he  will  be  very  glad,'  replied  Picotee. 
'  Berta  will,  I  know.' 


THE    END 


^^^^ 


NEW  YORK 

Publixherj  of  B00K5  and  of 
Harper'j  Magazine 

Estoblishod  j8ij 


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